I took all this love I found (and I hope that it's enough)
by bouj525
Summary: Bea Smith escapes the house she's trapped in and finds herself staying at a shelter for victims of domestic violence. When she can't sleep, she wanders outside in the middle of the night and sits on a bench. When Allie Novak joins her, Bea thinks that the dark of the night has never been so bright.
1. Even a ghost needs a friend

**I recently started an internship at a shelter for victims of domestic violence and I got some newfound inspiration to write a #Ballie story. There will be around 10-ish chapters.**

 **TW: mentions of physical, sexual, psychological violence.**

 **The title of the story comes from 'Only Love' by PVRIS.**

 **The title of the chapter comes from 'Ghost' by Jacob Lee.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Even a ghost needs a friend**

She waits until he's gone to sleep to search through every corner of the house.

She almost shouts in relief when she finds her phone, buried under a pile of unpaid bills. She hadn't seen her phone for a month. Harry had taken it away from her and had only brought it back from his workplace today. She could have gone and bought another one, but money was not something she had access to either.

She puts her phone in her pocket and tiptoes out of the house. She sits on the stairs and her eyes scan the empty street, searching for a sign of life. It's pitch black outside, but it's quiet. It's calm. It's peaceful. It's nothing like the parade of loud insults that she just received. It's nothing like Harry's hateful voice reminding her of how worthless she is.

She still tastes the blood in her mouth, but she's used to the iron flavor. It doesn't disgust her the way it used to, many months ago, when she'd been punched in the face for the very first time. The taste is a part of her now, just like the bruises that decorate her body with an harmony of purple and yellow shapes.

She fights hard to stop the tears from escaping her eyes. She tries to focus on the shadows on the sidewalks and the trees guarding her lawn, but her mind always goes back to the ache in her chest. Her skin burns when a drop of salted water finally rolls down her cheek.

She shakes her head lightly. She won't fall apart tonight. She won't fall apart anymore. She's strong. She must stay as strong as she can. It's the only way she can get out of this.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and stares at the black screen for a few seconds before she turns it on. The light nearly leaves her blind, but it's a small price to pay for freedom. She takes a deep breath and dials the number she knows by heart.

It rings twice before someone answers.

"Hello?"

"H-Hi," she stutters, taken aback by the softness of the feminine voice, "is it Wentworth shelter?"

After living with a beast for so long, she's forgotten what it feels like to interact with humans.

"Yes, it is. What can I do for you?"

The words are twirling in her mind. She doesn't know how to ask for help anymore. She doesn't know how to tell her story in a way that make people understand that she isn't just a victim. She's also a woman. A mother. A warrior.

Wentworth shelter is the only place that had caught her attention when she had done research for help, days ago. They welcome women for two months, a perfect amount of time for her to gain her life back.

"I need somewhere to stay," she admits. "Do you have a place?"

"Do you have any children with you?"

Her thoughts travel to Debbie. Her daughter had just left to go study on the other side of the planet. They had fought intensely about it, but Bea had won in the end. Knowing that her daughter is safe is the only thing that brings her comfort these days.

"It's just me."

It hurts to admit that she has no one.

"Are you in a situation of domestic violence?"

"Yes."

She has been in a situation of domestic violence for a while, but it still feels strange to share that information with someone else. She feels judged even though she has no reason to.

"We do have a place for a woman. Are you in a safe environment? I need to do a quick phone assessment with you to determine if we're the right place for you. It'll take about thirty minutes."

She looks behind her. All the lights are out in the house and Harry is nowhere to be seen. Still, she feels nervous, like she's committing a crime and she could be arrested at any moment. She stares at the street, expecting police cars to show up at any moment.

"I am," she whispers.

She hears papers rustling on the other side of the line and imagines someone sitting at a desk, waiting to hear about a story she isn't sure she wants to share.

"What's your name?"

"Bea Smith."

She has a name. She isn't a 'useless bitch'. She isn't a 'worthless cunt'. She isn't a 'stupid whore'.

"Bea Smith," the gentle voice repeats. "I'll need you to tell me a bit about your situation. Where are you now? Why are you asking for a place? Who's your abuser? All of those details matter."

Bea swallows the lump in her throat. She expected those questions, but she is still unsure on how to organize her story.

The other person must sense her hesitation and before Bea can place a word, the woman continues.

"Bea, I know it's hard. I wouldn't ask you to speak if it weren't necessary. I need to evaluate your request fairly because if we're not a match for what you need, then we'll have to send you away. It will only be more difficult for you. My name's Liz. I've worked here for many years. Everything you tell me is confidential."

Bea battles the urge to hang up and give up. It would be so easy to forget this has ever happened, but she knows it's too late for that.

"I'm at my house. I live there with my husband," she starts.

During the next minutes, Bea narrates her life to a stranger and she feels the weight of the world slowly being taken off her shoulders.

She tells Liz that she has lived with Harry for years, but only stayed because of her daughter. She tells her about the blows and the punches, the burns and the scars, the insults and the constant manipulation. She tells her about the sexual assaults and the economic abuse. She tells her about the isolation and the death threats.

She tells her about the way she feels like she could die, and he would keep beating the shit out of her lifeless body.

"He locked me in my room for a month. I couldn't contact anyone, not even Debbie," Bea speaks slowly. "That's why I'm calling tonight. I can't live without my daughter. If he tries to lock me again, I might not let him."

There's a silent promise in her words, but Liz doesn't point it out.

Liz asks questions every time Bea finishes a part of her story. Where is her husband now? Where does he work? Does he know she's calling the shelter? Does her daughter know? Does Bea work? Does she want to work? What's her income? What does she want to do if she gets a room there? Are child services in their life? Have they ever been before? Has she ever been to a shelter before? Does she have anyone she can stay with tonight?

For what feels like an hour, Bea answers and tries her best not to hide behind an armor of lies and embellished facts about her life.

She wants so much to pretend that everything is fine, but she knows Liz would see right through her words.

"Thank you," Liz says, "I know it's not easy. Let me explain a bit more about the shelter. You'll have a maximum of two months here. You'll have support from our team for everything, whether it is to find a new place to live or to find a job, or simply to talk about the abuse. You'll have to contribute everyday. We can find you a specific task later, but it could be to help prep the food for example. You'll have to share the house with the other women and children. You'll have your private room, but shared bathrooms and common areas. Is everything clear for you?"

"Yes," Bea says.

It really doesn't sound as bad as staying with Harry.

"You'll have weekly meetings to make sure you're actively working toward getting your life back. You'll also have to attend mandatory activities on the weekends. These are group activities we organize to make sure every woman in the house goes out and socializes. Is that alright?"

Bea accepts. She doesn't really want to make new friends, but she can minimally engage with others.

"Alright love, I just have a few more questions to ask. Do you take drugs or alcohol?"

"No."

All the empty bottles belong to Harry.

"Have you ever consulted someone for a mental health issue?"

Bea closes her eyes as she thinks of the scars that are still healing on her thighs. She remembers the way it had felt when the blade had traced lines on her skin, just days ago. There are twelve of them. She'd done it quickly, not giving herself the chance to change her mind or doubt her actions.

The scabs are itching like crazy, and she would like nothing more than to scratch them until she bleeds again.

"No."

"Do you take medication?"

"No."

"Do you have any allergies?"

"No."

"Are you ready to come right now? We don't take reservations."

Bea's heartbeat increases at the question. She's so close to a new life. Stupidly close, and yet, she still hesitates.

Bea hasn't had hope in forever.

It's exhilarating, but she has no clue what to do with it.

"Yes," she declares.

Bea waits and listens anxiously to the sound of a pen sliding on a piece of paper. She looks behind her many times, jumping at every small noise that reaches her ears. If Harry joins her now, she'll never escape.

She'll be dead before she can even hang up the phone.

She hears muffled voices before someone gets back to her.

"Bea, one last thing. If you come here, you're only allowed to bring two suitcases. We have limited space and you can only bring the essentials. The suitcases will stay in the garage, and for sanitary reasons, we'll ask you to clean all your clothes once you arrive. We have washing machines at your disposal. We'll lend you some clothes in the meantime, but you'll have to change as soon as you step in the house. Is that something you're comfortable with?"

Bea thinks of all the times she was forced to remove her clothes to please Harry. The fact that she is asked her opinion about it this time comforts her.

"I am," she replies.

She already knows what she'll bring. Her entire life fits in one suitcase.

"Alright, love. I can't give you the address now," Liz explains, "we welcome women in difficulty or who have been abused in the past. Our location is strictly confidential until we are sure that you're coming to us."

Bea nods silently. She doesn't expect anything less than severe security measures.

Liz tells her to go to a specific neighborhood in the city and call the shelter from there. She'll only give her the address if they have the confirmation that Bea has moved closer. If Bea changes her mind, she must also call to let them know.

They exchange a few more formalities and Liz gives Bea two hours to call back to update the shelter on her situation before her request is cancelled.

Bea feels hot by the time the call is over. She's sweating despite the cool air of the night and she quietly enters her house to pack.

As she delicately piles her clothes inside her suitcase, she prays that Harry doesn't wake up, and for the first time, her prayers are granted.

* * *

She calls to get the address just an hour later and Liz guides her to find the place with reassuring words in her ears. The suitcase is heavy with the remains of her old life, but she drags it through the streets relentlessly. She won't let Harry take any more of who she is.

It's the middle of the night, but she isn't scared. Nothing scares her more than Harry, and he is nowhere to be seen.

The moon is looking down at her and she thinks of Debbie. She hasn't told Debbie about her plans to move out. Her daughter won't be back for another month. Bea plans to have her own place by that time. She'll never allow Harry to hurt them again.

The house is located at the corner of two narrow streets illuminated by street lamps. It's big enough for Bea to be impressed by its stature, but small enough to go unnoticed amongst the other houses. Bea imagines that not many cars must come around here during the day, as they are far from the center of the city. Nothing indicates that this is a shelter for the women.

She's alone, but she sees lights shining through the windows. She walks to the door and rings the doorbell, hoping that this is the right place. Her heartbeat is so loud that she's afraid she's giving a free concert to whoever might be lurking around.

She sees a silhouette approaching the door and braces herself. She's ready to run away at the first indication of danger.

"Yes?"

The voice comes from the intercom next to the door and Bea whispers her name as if it is a bomb ready to explode in her face.

The door opens, and Bea finds herself staring defiantly at a woman who appears to be in her mid fifties, smiling at her like the world isn't such a terrible place to live in.

"Bea? I'm Liz. We spoke on the phone. Come on in," she gestures.

Bea hesitates. It's one thing to talk on the phone, but it's another to step into this strange building that she has never been in. Still, she figures it's that or the street, and she can smell the sweet scent of tea emanating the hallway. She closes the door behind her and her eyes search everywhere for a sign of threat.

She finds none.

She's standing in a large hallway that stretches to the other side of the house. She also sees many doors with large numbers on them. She knows immediately that these are the rooms for the residents.

To her left, there is a large office with many tables and desks, and she assumes this is where the work gets done during the day. She spots a screen displaying various views of the entrance of the house. There is a total of five cameras, all covering different places around the house.

She steps in the office and sits at a table where she notices Liz patiently waiting for her.

"How are you, Bea?" Liz asks with a small smile.

Bea's eyes are fixed on the woman, unsure of how to answer that question. She isn't good, but she isn't bad either. She doesn't want to appear weak and incapable of taking care of herself. That's not who she is.

"I'm fine," she declares with a convinced voice.

Liz sees right through her.

"You won't have to tell me anything tonight. It's late. When a woman comes here, we give her a moment to settle in before we start working with her."

Bea feels a wave of relief washing over her. She'd always thought that she'd be forced to share everything on the very first night, and that had been one of the reasons she had hesitated so much before calling here.

"I only have a couple of papers for you to sign and then I'll let you go. How about I give a quick tour of the house and you get some rest? I'll let one of the women explain the rules to you tomorrow."

Bea nods.

The papers are simply a written version of the rules along with a few personal information. She signs them after making sure all the information about her is right. She gets the key to her room, but nothing else.

"If you ever need to go out," Liz explains as she stands in front of the entrance, "you just come here and tell me, or another employee. As you can see, our office is right next to the entrance. We open the door for you. It's a simple procedure. We'll never stop you from going out and we'll never ask about our whereabouts. Many people think shelters are places where we control everything you do, but that's not true. We just make sure that someone always locks the door after you leave. We also ask that you come back here to sleep and that you never tell our address to anyone, no matter who they are."

"How many of you work here?"

"We're four. Me, Vera, Bridget and Will. Usually, there are three of us during the day, and one stays for the night shift. It's a rotation. This week, I'm only going to be there at night. We also have someone to work during the weekend. There's always someone if you need anything."

Bea follows Liz as the older woman shows her around the house. The suitcase rolls quietly on the wooden floor as they walk by the many closed doors. She stops briefly in front of door number 1. It'll be her room for her stay. It's large, way larger than she had expected before coming here. She has a bed, a small desk and a place to hang her clothes.

"Most of the women are sleeping right now," Liz whispers, pointing at the clock on the wall that indicates it is three in the morning.

Liz shows her where the bathrooms and showers are before they reach the end of the hallway.

They enter the kitchen where two stoves are shining so brightly that Bea wonders if they are new. She thinks of the old stove she has at her place. It barely works, but Harry refuses to buy a new one. It's a miracle she was able to cook in the previous days.

"This is the kitchen. We have someone cook all the meals, so you don't need to worry about that. If you buy things for yourself, we have scheduled hours for you to cook."

Liz guides Bea to another room where many tables are lined up neatly.

"This is the dining room. We all eat here. Breakfasts are before nine in the morning. Lunch is between noon and one. Dinner is served at five thirty until six thirty in the evening. You just come here, grab a plate and serve yourself. You can't eat in your room. We encourage all women to speak to each other."

Bea listens and mentally notes the hours to eat. She's starved. She hadn't had dinner tonight. She had been too focused on her plan to leave the house to think about anything else.

She eyes the fridge next to the tables with hunger in her mind and she hopes she doesn't start drooling on the perfectly cleaned floor.

"This fridge is for the women. The one in the kitchen is for the cook," Liz adds. "If you buy things, we recommend you write your name on it."

They move to the living room before heading to the basement. Liz tells her about the play room, where kids come during the days they don't have school.

"We welcome women with children here too. It might be quiet at night, but I'll assure you it'll be a different thing in the morning."

Bea smiles lightly as she remembers Debbie as a young child, a firework on two legs.

They walk to a small room where two washing machines and two dryers are awaiting her.

"This is where I'll leave you," Liz says. "You must wash all your clothes, even if they are already clean. It's standard procedure for everyone. You can start now or in the morning. The soap is here. In the meantime, you can wear these."

Liz points to a teal hoodie with matching sweatpants.

"It's not much, but it'll keep your warm until your clothes are good. If there's anything you need, you can come reach me in the office. Do you have any question?"

Bea shakes her head and opens her suitcase as Liz leaves the room. A variety of clothes are thrown in the washer. She changes into the teal outfit and feels ridiculous. At least, just like Liz had told her, it's warm and soft on her skin.

Bea watches for a few minutes as the machine spins, washing away the violent memories she has come to associate with the clothes.

The shirt she was wearing when Harry pushed her down the stairs is squished between the pants she wore when he forced her to have sex with him for the first time and the top she wore when he poured his beer over her head.

Her clothes never feel clean enough, and she wishes she could be the one inside the machine.

She closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. Debbie would not want her to think that way.

* * *

Bea walks upstairs. She's about to go past the dining room without a second glance when a voice catches her attention.

"Hi. You're new here?"

Bea jumps in surprise and turns to face the stranger. She receives a warm smile in exchange for her skeptical glance.

"I'm Maxine. It's nice to meet you."

Maxine is drinking a cup of tea and her eyes are full of hopeful wishes and broken promises. She looks like she's lived a million lives before coming here and Bea immediately feels she can trust her.

"Bea Smith. Its late," Bea states.

She hadn't expected to meet anyone tonight and the sudden presence of another woman surprises her.

Maxine chuckles quietly.

"One would argue it is really early in the morning."

Bea remains quiet.

"I can't sleep," Maxine adds. "My doctor changed my meds a few days ago and I'm all over the place."

Bea doesn't ask what the meds are for, and Maxine doesn't elaborate. They communicate with their eyes and the untold truth navigates between them.

Bea doesn't point out the paleness of Maxine's skin, the exhaustion in her eyes or the absence of hair under her bandana. Maxine doesn't point out the way Bea keeps the end of her sleeves in her tightly closed fists, as if she was afraid the long sleeves were going to disappear suddenly and expose her bruised arms to the world.

"I just arrived," Bea sighs. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep."

"Well, come have a cuppa with me then," Maxine offers, pushing a chair so Bea can sit next to her.

"I don't know what to talk about," Bea replies as she takes place next to the other woman.

She feels like she doesn't know anything anymore. She can't even remember who she is, who she was before Harry came into her life.

"Anything at all," Maxine says. "I'll let you in on a secret. We don't even have to talk."

Bea scoffs lightly, but realizes Maxine is serious. For the next minutes, she sips her tea slowly, sometimes letting her eyes wander on Maxine's thin figure, sometimes staring at the table with no clue what to do now.

Maxine just lets her be and Bea is thankful for that.

"It's just intimidating, you know?" Bea breaks the silence.

Maxine looks at her like she can read Bea's mind.

"Yes, I know. The first day always is. You'll find your rhythm. I've been here for two weeks and I can't see myself anywhere else."

"Do you feel safe here?"

"Safer than I've been in a long time," Maxine murmurs.

* * *

Bea thinks she is having a panic attack.

The walls are too empty. The mattress is too hard. The light is too bright. The silence is deafening. The air she breathes is suffocating her. The blanket is setting her skin on fire.

The tea had helped her satisfy some of her hunger, but not anymore. The hole in her stomach is spreading to other parts of her body.

The only things she recognizes when she looks around in her room are the items she brought with her. A few papers. A few books. Her phone. Her phone charger. Her wallet. Many pictures of Debbie. Everything else is in the laundry room and Bea suddenly feels like she has nothing with her.

She's truly alone now. At her house, she had Harry. He was terrible. He was violent. He was a predator looking down at her like she was nothing but his prey. But at least, he was there, and she could listen to his aggressive voice rather than her own inner demons.

The reality that she is truly out of her house, in a place where Harry can't reach her, crashes onto her and it's too much. She feels like the walls are closing in on her. She is going to be crushed any second now if she doesn't move.

She races through the main hallway as quietly as she can, the floor creaking loudly under every step she takes, and reaches the entrance within seconds. She hasn't slept at all and it's close to five thirty in the morning, but she couldn't care less.

"I need to go outside. Just a moment," she breathes heavily, hoping that no explanation will be asked.

She knows Liz had told she wouldn't be asked to disclose her whereabouts, but she doesn't know what to believe yet. It is a strange hour to go out after all.

Liz stares at her with compassionate eyes as she gets up and unlocks the door.

"Just ring the doorbell when you want to come back in."

Bea runs outside and gasps for air as if she'd spent the last hours underwater.

She puts some distance between her and the shelter but doesn't venture far. She stops at a small park, two streets away from the shelter. She sits on a bench and looks up to the black sky. Slowly, the pressure in her chest goes away and the hurricane in her mind passes.

She takes a few deep breaths. Her stomach growls and she winces at the familiar pain. She's taken back to the many times Harry had prevented her from eating just because he wanted to punish her for something she'd done. The nausea doesn't get easier to ignore.

She wishes she could buy something, but she doesn't know the neighborhood well enough to go farther without the sun to guide her. Even if she did, she only has two dollars in her pockets. Only a few hours until she can go back and get breakfast, she thinks.

She's survived worst, she tells herself over and over.

She didn't bring anything with her and she fiddles with her curled red hair while she waits for the present to become the past. She can't stop thinking about Harry's reaction when he'll wake up. Would he go after her? Would he go to the police? Would he spread more lies about her? Would he reach Debbie? Her heart aches at the last option.

She's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't notice the shadow walking toward her until it's too late.

Bea feels the bench bend under the weight of someone else sitting on it and she jumps ten feet in the air.

"What the fuck?" she blurts out.

Bea glares at the stranger. The park is completely empty. There are many other benches to sit on.

"Wow, jumpy, aren't we? You looked so lonely, I figured I'd keep you company. I just got off work," an amused voice answers.

Bea is still trying to keep her heart inside her chest when she notices long blond hair peaking out from under the stranger's hood. She can't see what the woman looks like in the dark, but she thinks she recognizes the color of the hoodie. It's the same as the one she has.

"You're wearing green," Bea declares loudly.

The woman laughs loudly and pulls down the hood from the top of her head.

"It's teal, you dickhead," she smirks, finally looking up to meet Bea's eyes.

Bea has received several insults in her life but getting one from this estranged woman doesn't hurt her the way she thought it would. Piercing blue eyes are staring at her and Bea finds herself unable to pronounce a word.

The blue is taking Bea hostage. The dilated pupils make it clear that the stranger likes what she's looking at and Bea is paralyzed by the unknown.

"I'm Allie Novak."

"You're at Wentworth?" Bea asks.

"What's your name?" Allie replies casually, ignoring the question thrown at her.

Allie's eyes are sparkling with desire, amusement and an amount of energy that Bea thought impossible at this time of the night. Allie crosses her arms over her chest and waits for Bea to answer, oblivious to the way Bea's blood is rushing through her veins at lightspeed. The meter that separates them does nothing to calm Bea's nerves.

"Bea. Bea Smith."

Allie nods convincingly, letting Bea knows that her answer has been forever saved in her brain.

"Well, Bea, I'm not at Wentworth. I was, weeks ago. Then I got kicked out. They just couldn't handle me."

Allie pronounces those words like she couldn't care less about her situation. She speaks as if it isn't the middle of the night, but rather a sunny afternoon. She speaks as if she isn't wearing dirty clothes, but rather a clean outfit freshly off the fanciest store in town. She speaks as if they aren't complete strangers, but rather best friends who have known each other for years.

"You got kicked out?"

Bea is about to ask why when she notices something else about the other woman. Her clothes aren't only dirty. They're filthy. They look like they've been dragged through all the dirt on earth before they were thrown on Allie's body. Bea also sees the faint traces of white powder on the teal fabric and feels the blood drains from her face when she realizes what they are.

"They're not mine," Allie says carefully when she sees Bea staring at the white traces.

For a strange reason she can't identify, Bea believes her.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I got my own gear for later."

Allie stops talking, waiting for Bea to react to the revelation. She's high, but not completely off her head tonight. She'd just finished with a client when she'd decided to wait until her next fix. Sometimes she's capable of controlling her urges, sometimes not.

The need to go and get a dose had increased in the last hour, but when she had seen Bea, sitting there on that bench, with nothing but Wentworth's clothes on, Allie's priorities had shifted.

She knows Wentworth. Not everyone ends up there. Only those who do have no other choice left.

She waits for Bea to react, expecting her to get up and leave at any moment. She wouldn't be surprised, and she wouldn't follow her. She'd learned a long time ago that having friends was a luxury she couldn't afford.

It never stops her from trying.

She waits for a full five minutes before she accepts that Bea won't speak again.

"They don't accept junkies at Wentworth. It's dangerous for the kids. I was clean when I got there, but then I slipped," Allie adds.

Bea hums, but doesn't pronounce any words. She's looking away in the distance, simply listening to Allie. She isn't running away, but she isn't quite here anymore.

It drives Allie insane.

She wants the Bea to react. Everyone does. Everyone reacts, so why isn't Bea? There's something about her that pulls Allie in and she needs to know what it is.

"Lucky for me, I got that beautiful piece of clothing before I left," she gestures to her hoodie. "And I got my own place now. It's a five stars alley, a few streets from here. You're welcome to visit anytime you want."

Bea scoffs. She has no idea what to reply to that. She has no idea why this Allie is even talking to her, confessing so many personal details of her life. She could never do that. She wishes Allie was lying, because living in the streets sounds like a horrific idea, but something in the blonde's tone tells her it's the truth.

The sudden confession makes her want to trust Allie.

She turns her head to face the blonde.

"Thanks for the offer," Bea smiles gently.

There is no judgement in her smile. There is no harshness in her voice. There is no trace of fear in her eyes. The pity Allie is expecting to see hasn't appeared yet. Instead, Bea stares at her like she would anyone else. The moment of absence, whatever it was, is gone, and Bea is here, fully here with Allie.

It leaves Allie speechless.

"So… you'll consider it?" she grins widely as Bea rolls her eyes slightly.

It's subtle and Allie almost misses it, but she doesn't, and the playfulness of the other woman sends a shock to her heart.

She loves it.

"I didn't hear you deny it," Allie persists, pushing her luck and moving closer to Bea. "I'll be expecting you soon."

"What do you want?" Bea asks suddenly, changing the subject.

Allie stares at her for a moment, wondering whether to answer seriously or not, before she decides on the first option.

"A friend," Allie declares, brutally honest.

There's a vulnerability in her voice as she pronounces the words. She's still waiting for Bea to judge her. She's giving Bea an out and even though she would like nothing more than to stay here for longer, she's ready to respect the other woman's wish.

Still, she hopes that Bea won't make her leave. After having sex with nameless faces all night, Allie craves humane interactions. She craves the simplicity of having a normal conversation, away from the cruelness of some strangers.

She wants a connection that isn't related to the exchange of fluids and well calculated touches.

"You looked like you could use one too," Allie adds softly.

"I don't know you."

"But you want to?" Allie assumes with a sly smile.

"I don't know," Bea breathes out.

Allie nods, as if she knows everything Bea has on her mind.

She remembers her first day at Wentworth. Everyone either had looked at her with pity in their eyes, or worse, fear. Maybe they had known, just by staring at her, that her history was too heavy for them to bear. When she had left, she had known no one would remember her the next day.

"You don't have to decide tonight," Allie says. "It's your first night at Wentworth, isn't it? The new ones always have the same look on their face."

Facing Bea's silence, Allie continues.

"They all look like they've reached rock bottom. Or like lost puppies, your take."

"I'm fine."

"Of course, you are. Aren't we all?"

"Aren't you tired?" Bea interrogates, a frown in her face.

It doesn't take long for Bea to guess what Allie's job is. Judging by her swollen lips, the marks around her neck and the way her hair looks like a complete mess, Bea imagines Allie's body reacting to foreign touches while Allie's soul wanders somewhere else.

Allie opens her mouth to answer when she's interrupted by Bea's stomach howling at the absent moon.

The blonde's smile almost splits her face in half.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Bea doesn't reply. She looks down, unsure of how to react. She's starved, but she'll have a meal soon. The hunger is temporary.

"Here, take this."

Allie reaches inside her pocket and pulls out a granola bar. She hands it to Bea, who stares back at her like Allie's just grown a second head.

"Take it, I don't need it," Allie insists, grabbing Bea's hand and placing the bar inside.

Bea shakes her head in disbelief. She knows what it's like to go without food. She doesn't wish that on anyone. She has no trouble picturing Allie needing food later in the day while Bea would be inside with a full stomach.

"You need it more than I do," she whispers, giving it back to Allie while trying to ignore how soft Allie's skin is.

The blonde takes it back, only to throw it at Bea a second later.

"It isn't a competition. Right now, I'm not hungry. Well, not for food at least," Allie's eyes travel up and down Bea's body shamelessly. "But you are, so take it. Feed yourself before you pass out."

There's something about Allie's boldness that makes Bea accept the food this time. The first bite tastes like she's coming back to life and she feels the sugar rushing through her veins. She moans at the faint taste of chocolate and dried fruits and licks her lips as she devours the granola bar.

By the time Bea is done, Allie is nearly undressing her with her eyes.

"Good?" Allie asks innocently, with a much less innocent twinkle in her eyes.

"Great," Bea replies softly, ignoring way Allie's stare makes her skin crawl.

Allie chuckles as she gets up.

"It was nice to meet you, Bea."

Bea's smile drops so fast that Allie wonders if it was even there in the first place.

"You're leaving?"

"You'll miss me?" Allie winks.

"No."

It sounds like a lie and they both know it.

Allie is the first normal conversation Bea has had in a while. She feels normal. She senses Allie must know about her situation because of the teal outfit, but she hasn't been asked any question about it. She hasn't talked about the abuse. She hasn't talked about Harry.

It's like Allie had known what Bea needed.

A pause from her life. A pause from her mental turmoil. A moment to remember what it is like to feel close to someone, no matter how ephemeral it is.

Bea has never been more grateful.

"What a shame," Allie pretends to be hurt. "I'll miss you. See? Easy to admit. Now, your turn."

Bea shakes her head silently, the ghost of a grin haunting her lips.

Allie laughs again, unfazed by Bea's stubbornness, and Bea thinks this is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.

"I'll see you around, Bea," Allie wiggles her eyebrows as she walks away.

Bea watches as the distance grows between them. Just when Allie is about to disappear from her sight, Bea yells.

"Hey Allie!"

She thinks she sees the blonde's body turns around to face her through the dark.

"You're an Allie cat!"

She knows Allie heard her when the heavenly laugh reaches her ears once again.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

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	2. Be human again

**Title of the chapter comes from Human by Aquilo.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Be human again**

Bea grabs an empty plate from the pile of dishes and scans the room. Some women are already eating breakfast. They glance at her, small curious smiles in their face, making sure Bea isn't a threat. She still doesn't feel comfortable enough to sit with any of them. Her crimson curled hair is hiding half of her face as she sits at one of the empty tables.

She's trying so hard to get her shit together even though she feels like she won't ever belong here.

She feels like she's been on autopilot ever since she came back to the shelter a few hours ago. She slept a grand total of one hour and a half before the smell of fresh bread woke her from a restless sleep.

She's exhausted. She can feel her body asking for more time in bed, but she knows too well that it would only end with her staring at the ceiling and secretly wishing that it crashes on her head.

She bites into a piece of bread as her mind wanders back to the mysterious blonde from the park. She doesn't much about her, and the things she does know aren't the most flattering. They probably would have made her run away if it hadn't been for the inexplicable pull she had felt toward Allie. To put it simply, their conversation had been a small miracle.

For a few minutes, Allie had helped Bea think about something else than the mess of her life. She had reached inside Bea's chest, had tugged at her heart gently and made it beat faster, not from fear but excitement. Allie had reached inside Bea's head, had stolen a few poisonous thoughts and replaced them with the memories of laughs and soft smiles.

Allie had cared.

Even just for a moment, she had cared. She had put Bea's needs before hers. She had made Bea laugh. She had made Bea dream a little. She had made Bea's world beautiful, just for a moment.

Bea can't get that simple fact out of her head.

"Hey, Red."

Bea looks up, slightly annoyed at the interruption. She realizes she must have drifted off farther than she thought when she sees Maxine sitting at the table, along with another woman she doesn't know. Dark hair, a tattoo of a naked woman and toned muscles, that's all Bea sees before the woman speaks again.

"Like what you see?"

The dark-haired woman smirks suggestively until Maxine gently pushes her shoulder.

"Don't scare the poor woman, Franky. She's only just arrived."

"Exactly. I have a reputation to maintain."

Franky is irradiating confidence, and her voice betrays nothing of that persona. She's staring right into Bea's eyes and leaning on the table to be as closed to the other woman as she can be.

It doesn't intimidate Bea.

"What reputation?" Bea asks, not missing a beat and meeting the brunette's eyes.

"How about you come in my room tonight and find out?" Franky bites her lower lips.

Bea stares blankly at the woman, appalled by the idea.

"Franky is harmless, but she has no manners," Maxine reassures Bea as she pushes Franky's shoulder again, harder. "There's only one person she wants in her pants."

Franky scoffs and looks at the ceiling for a second before she diverts her eyes to a woman exiting the kitchen with more food to put on the tables.

"That's Bridget. She works here," Maxine whispers. "Franky only has eyes for her."

"Piss off!" Franky protests, still staring at Bridget.

"She proves my point everyday whether she wants it or not," Maxine finishes as she takes a sip of her cup of tea.

There's a lightness in their interactions that suggests they have been friends for a while, and Bea is relieved to have them approaching her. Making awkward conversation with people she doesn't know is the last thing she wants.

Bea smiles absently as she looks at Bridget. She hasn't met anyone but Liz so far, and she's a bit nervous at the thought of having to discuss her situation with someone else. Bridget looks like she doesn't have one evil bone in her body, but Bea knows better than to trust her first impression.

First impressions are deceptive.

She had trusted her first impression of Harry. She had married a loving, caring man. She had received the softest kiss and the nicest touches. Until it had all stopped. Until she had seen the real person behind the masquerade.

Until she had bled and bled and tainted every carpet of the house with her blood.

She reaches for another piece of bread and waits for Franky to continue.

"Anyway, Red, that's for your hair by the way, I'm here to tell you the rules of the house. I've got only three weeks left before I'm kicked out. I've stayed over a month already," she smiles. "I found my own place and I'm ready to put all of this behind me."

Bea briefly wonders what Franky means by 'all of this', but she doesn't ask. If there's one thing she knows, it's to not ask questions about the past. People will come to her if they want to, but she'll never force anyone to talk to her. She knows how much it hurts when she's forced to do something she doesn't want to.

It's the story of her fucking life.

"You probably know the rules already. It's the usual. Don't steal, don't hit, don't yell. Don't walk into someone else's room unless you're invited. You're welcome in mine anytime," Franky talks quickly, not giving time for Bea to answer. "I'm assuming you already know when you can eat here. The washing room is open all day, but you can't use it during the night unless you got permission. The office is open at all time, but there's really no need for you to go there unless you have a request or a meeting."

She points at Bridget and two other people Bea hasn't met yet.

"That's Will Jackson," Franky points at a tall man. "He works mostly on the relationship between the mother and the kids. You don't have a kid here, so you'll probably won't meet him often, but he might talk to you sometimes. He's the nicest man I've ever met, I swear."

Bea nods, her thoughts drifting to Debbie.

Debbie, whose existence is the reason Bea hasn't try to hang herself after so long.

She really needs to talk to her daughter today. She needs to be the one to tell her daughter that she left. She can't let Harry do it. He would lie. He would twist the truth into a much somber version where Bea abandons them to go run a drug cartel.

He would convince Debbie that Bea doesn't love her.

It would kill them both.

"That's Vera. She likes the rules so much, it's annoying," Franky hints at a woman with her hair tied in a flawless bun. "She'll probably tell you herself all the rules again later today, but she's nice enough. She's got our interests at heart."

Just as she finishes, Vera approaches the table, a small smile on her lips. She stands straight as she extends her hand solemnly in front of Bea.

"I'm Vera Benett. I heard there was a new woman with us today. Welcome to Wentworth."

The formality of a handshake surprises Bea, but she does it regardless.

"Thank you."

"You can come in the office whenever you're done. I'll go over the rules with you," Vera adds, glancing at Franky like she accuses her of spreading lies. "And I'll answer any question you might have about us."

As soon as Vera is out of sight, Franky smiles at Bea.

"She likes me. No kidding, she does. She just knows me too well for her own good. And how was I supposed to know that sex wasn't allowed in this place?! It's not my fault she didn't knock on my door first. And she claims to follow every rule, I beg to differ. Oh, and that's Bridget," she points at a tall blonde woman. "She's great."

The way Franky's eyes light up when she mentions Bridget tells Bea that 'great' is the understatement of the year. She can see respect and admiration in Franky's dark eyes. She can see lust and maybe a hint of love, even if the stubborn woman won't admit it.

"She'll make you talk about feelings and shit," Franky mutters, "but that's what she does. She's a shrink. Don't let her get into your head or she'll never leave. Take my word for it, once they get inside your head, you're done for."

Franky shakes her head in disbelief as Bridget laughs at something another woman says.

Bea chuckles. She's never been one to see a shrink. Harry wouldn't have let her, but even if he had, she doesn't think she would have talked that much. Talking meant letting someone into their business. Talking meant risking someone calling the police on them. Talking meant risking someone arresting Harry and scarring Debbie for life. Bea would have done anything to avoid that.

She hadn't realized that being a witness to the abuse had scarred Debbie just as much. Debbie had known about the violence. She had grown with the fear of finding her mother's corpse everyday for years.

"Boomer! Get your ass over here!" Franky suddenly shouts at a built woman with long black hair.

"Franky, language," Maxine shakes her head.

Boomer walks slowly to the table, juggling with a tower of bread and fruits on her plate. She manages to reach the table without dropping anything and sits next to Franky. She turns her attention to Bea and narrows her eyes suspiciously. She doesn't trust strangers easily, no matter where she is. Being in a women's shelter certainly isn't an exception to the rule. She's been hurt countless times by people here.

People who don't get her the way Franky does.

People who judge her whenever she speaks just because she's not as sophisticated as some arrogant pricks.

People who don't take the time to know her.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asks harshly.

"Red, that's Boomer. Boomer, Red or Bea." Franky introduces them. "Booms looks like she could kill you, but she's a softie. Boomer and Maxine are the best people I could ever meet here. So that means, if you hurt them, I'll hurt you, got it?"

Bea looks at Franky like she's insane, but nods.

"Boomer needs some time to trust you," Franky explains. "Her boyfriend was a dick. I tried to convince her to switch teams, but she won't budge. Can't get them all. Once you get her on your side though, there's no one else you'd rather have standing by you."

Boomer eats silently, but Bea sees the way her lips curve up at the compliment. Bea has no idea what Boomer has been through, but she notices the way the tall woman drinks every word Franky pronounces. There's no denying Boomer thinks highly of her friend.

"Some bitch stole from me once," Franky recalls. "Boomer made sure it wouldn't happen again. That's how we met. I gave her a bag of marshmallows to thank her, and there it was, a pact to our newfound friendship."

Franky laughs lightly, and Boomer follows her lead.

"I went bunta on her ass," Boomer laughs harder, recalling the events.

Bea listens as they talk about their plans for the day. They all have somewhere to be. They all have jobs or appointments or _something,_ and Bea has no clue what to expect for her first day.

She wonders where she fits now. She can't go back to her house anymore. She can't stay in her room all day. She doesn't have a job. She doesn't know anyone around here. She isn't even sure what part of the city she's in.

She's trapped between two worlds: her old one, where violence reigns and where punches rained over her every day, and her new one, where everything remains unknown.

Both scare her equally, for different reasons.

Bea hates that she can't figure it out on her own. She hates that she's stuck in-between, trying to learn how to live on her own when she's a grown ass woman. She hates that she hasn't escaped before. She hates that she feels so powerless right now.

A glass shatters on the floor behind her and she gasps loudly.

Her pulse reaches the sky before she realizes the broken glass isn't the result of Harry being drunk and angry. She isn't about to receive a slap in the face. She isn't about to be pushed to the floor. She isn't about to be drag to bed by her hair. She isn't about to feel his weight pinning her body down.

She isn't in her kitchen, messing up a recipe or being late to serve dinner.

She's not with him anymore.

"I- I have to go." She stands quickly with her plate and rushes outside the dining room.

Before she enters her room, she hears Boomer's voice threatening the owner of the glass.

* * *

She calls Debbie when her breath is steady, and her body has stopped shaking. She calls her when she finally stops looking around her for someone ready to jump her and end her life. She calls her when the nightmares disappear as she blinks them away.

She cries on the phone when she tells the person she loves most that she's left their house, a place where the best and the worst memories were made. She rants and rambles and swears too much, but Debbie listens and knows her mother needs this.

She plays too much with her hair and throws the covers from her bed in an outburst of emotions. She walks a thousand miles in a few minutes as she paces in her room like it's the only place in the world that will take her as she is, raw and hurt, and forever unbreakable.

She fights with herself and nearly slams her fist into the wall, but her daughter's voice is a shot of morphine in her brain that chases away her torments.

She sits on her bed and speaks softly, whispering secrets to her daughter and promising her to always love her to the moon and back, and repeating it so many times that she wonders if Debbie might think she's lost her mind.

She convinces Debbie that she is safe, and that Harry can't find her, but they both know they can't underestimate the man who had loved them so heartlessly.

Love hurts. Bea had always known it. She just hadn't expected it to be a goddamn minefield too.

She hears the way Debbie hesitates, the ways she tiptoes around Bea like she's afraid her mother might fall and never get back.

She hears the way Debbie's voice is soft, and gently, but laced with regrets, insecurities and a quiet anger about the fact that Bea took her father away from them.

She hears Debbie's detachment, the very same detachment that had ruled their interactions the day that her daughter had left Australia. It still breaks her heart today.

She kisses Debbie goodbye on the phone and when the line cuts, the solitude circles Bea like the sweet embrace of death.

* * *

She goes outside at noon, when the sun is high in the sky and the heat makes the invisible weight on her shoulders so much heavier. It's torture, especially when she still wears long sleeves to hide her battered limbs, but she welcomes it.

She walks for hours with no destination on mind and no goal in sight. She wanders in the labyrinth of streets and avoids everyone's eyes. Her feet aches, her eyes stings and her skin is covered by sweat by the time she comes back to the shelter. She's pretty sure she's gotten many sunburns, but she shrugs it off.

She feels cleaner than she's ever been before and even laughs when Franky shots a dirty joke about how hot and bothered she is.

She takes a cold shower before she joins the group for dinner.

"Not hungry?" she asks Maxine, the only woman without a plate at their table.

Maxine shakes her head. She looks like she could throw up from the smell of the food alone.

"Chemo will do that to you," she sighs.

Bea nods silently. She hasn't asked what illness is stealing Maxine's life, but the mention of chemotherapy confirms her suspicions. A quick glance at Franky tells her to not seek more information unless Maxine speaks first. Bea focuses on the food.

Burgers, fried rice, baked potatoes, three choices of salads, soup and bread. All of this, and then what appears to be a chocolate cake waiting for them.

Bea would never have thought that she'd get a buffet by coming here, but she gladly pushes her expectations aside as she digs into the food.

"You have to eat," Boomer pleads.

"I won't keep anything inside," Maxine says gently.

"The doctor better knows what he's doing or I'll punch his tits in," Boomer growls, stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork.

"I'll be fine. Treatment's going well," Maxine replies. "You've got more than just me to worry about. What about those apartments you visited?"

"It's not good. The window's been smashed, and I'd need to pay to replace half the furniture."

"What about the other place?"

"It's the arse end of this shit city."

Boomer keeps murdering her food as Maxine gently places her hand on her shoulder.

"I've seen the pictures, love. You sure you're not trying to find a reason to stay here longer? I'll still be around even if you're not. We'll still see each other."

"It won't be the same," Boomer mutters under her breath.

The woman refuses to look up, and underneath the layers of rudeness, Bea finds the familiar fear of losing a loved one.

"Ah, come on, Booms," Franky shakes her head. "She's not dead. She'll still see you. Plus, imagine how great it'll be to be out of here. No more rules to follow! No more shared bathrooms and showers. No more crying babies every morning or night. And I'll be out too. You won't be the only one trying to figure out how to live by yourself after so long."

Boomer's smile is tiny, but it's there, and Franky knows she's managed to turn the conversation around.

"Plus, you know I make the best food. I used to be a chef, you know?" Franky turns to Bea. "I haven't lost my skills. These hands are good at pleasing the ladies in more ways than one."

Bea resists the urge to roll her eyes as Franky lets out a laugh so loud that some other women sitting at a different table turn to look at them.

"Do you ever stop?" Bea genuinely wonders.

"Do you really want me to?" Franky sends her best pleading look in Bea's direction.

"Say yes," Maxine deadpans.

"Always breaking my heart," Franky dramatically places her hand on her chest.

Bea snorts at the reaction and shakes her head. It doesn't matter what she says, she has a feeling nothing can stop the brunette from flirting her way into a conversation.

"That's what I thought," Franky winks. "Can't resist it. But I'm serious! I make a killer meal when I want to. You're all invited as soon as I settle in. We'll have good wine, good food and good company."

Bea wonders if Franky is serious about the invitation. They've just met each other.

It's still vaguely comforting to know that someone considers her worth an invitation to meet outside of the shelter.

"So Red, you had a meeting yet?" The tattooed woman continues. "They go easy on you at first. They let you guide the conversation, but the longer you're here, the more they'll push you to do things and respect the schedule they've set. It's like they want you to know that you'll be kicked out soon. Unless it's Bridget. Then you go straight to the juicy stuff and you won't resist because she just knows how to get you. Have you talked to her yet? She's something, isn't she?"

Bea doesn't answer right away and lets Franky rambles a bit more about the blonde therapist. She hasn't had a meeting yet, but she did talk to Vera about the rules of the house. It had been a short conversation, with Vera nodding every time Bea finished a sentence.

"I called my daughter earlier."

She has no idea what prompts her to reveal some of her personal life, but a part of her is already starting to belong in this group, and she feels confident enough to follow that instinct.

"What's her name?" Maxine's eyes shine with interest.

"Debbie," Bea relaxes as the conversation flows around the joy of her life. "She's studying abroad."

"Does she know you're here?"

"Yeah. I had to tell her. She's… She's always been there when Harry abused me. I didn't want her to worry."

It's like there's a war inside her body as she stiffens and braces herself for the reactions. She's not used to telling people about the obscure truth of her life. It activates her fight or flight response and drives her mad with anxiety.

It doesn't matter that she's in a place where everyone had gone through difficult things, she still worries she'll be judged and rejected.

She receives nothing but understanding looks and respectful glances.

"How did it go?" Boomer speaks, directing a question at Bea for the first time.

"It went good. She's doing amazing. She sounded free on the phone, you know? And she's relieved for me. She told me she's not mad at me. I don't… I don't know if I believe her on that, but I know she's excited for me," Bea enumerates, her eyes betraying how ecstatic she really is.

She can talk about Debbie for days and never run out of things to say.

She can tell them about the different ways Debbie makes her laugh when she is overwhelmed with sadness.

She can tell them about the different ways Debbie distracts her when she is trapped in a whirlpool of toxic thoughts.

She can tell them about the different ways Debbie's touches constantly remind her that softness still exists in a world dominated by tough blows.

She can tell them about all the little ways Debbie has saved her life.

"You're doing good, Red," Franky declares, a newfound seriousness in her eyes.

Bea melts, listening to the words she never knew she needed.

* * *

It's five in the morning when Bea opens her eyes and drags herself out of her bed. The floor is hard on her feet and goosebumps form the smallest mountains on her arms. Sleep comes and goes, and she thinks that sleeping four hours on her second night here is better than nothing. She feels the unwelcomed tickle from the scabs on her thighs and the urge to scratch floods her senses again.

She refuses to leave more permanent scars.

She doesn't bother putting a coat on and exits her room as fast as she can, accidently slamming the door. Liz shoots her a kind look as she leaves the warmth of the shelter to enter a world where the sun has yet to rise.

There's a feeling of wildness that inhabits her whenever she finds herself walking outside alone at an early hour. She can dance in the streets or lie on the concrete ground. She can pretend to be a time traveller from outer space or a child lost in a world that needs everyone to grow up too fast. She can go back to where she comes from or she can never look back.

She does nothing, but heads for the park two streets away.

She really doesn't expect _her_ to be there. She really doesn't. As she walks closer to the bench, she finds a million reasons why _she_ won't be there again. She argues with herself that there's no way a stranger she met by pure coincidence last night would be there again, at the exact same place, at the exact same time. She buries her wishes and pretends she's not hoping to see the other woman again.

Hope finds a way to reach for her heart regardless of what she wants, and she shivers with apprehension when she sees the lone figure sitting on the bench.

She tries hard to hide her smile when she sits next to Allie. She tries hard to ignore the way her body reacts to the sight of Allie wearing a tight white t-shirt that fits perfectly around her curves.

The second the blonde turns her ocean eyes on her, Bea is done for.

"Bea! I've missed you. You still hungry?"

The way Allie slurs her words and tries to sit straight hints Bea of a heavier influence of narcotics than the previous night. The last question vaguely sounds like Allie is offering Bea to eat anything but actual food, and Bea is baffled by the suggestion.

It should terrify Bea. It should make her want to put more distance between the two of them. It should repulse her, but instead, Bea finds that she doesn't give a fuck what Allie has taken before coming here, because Allie _is_ here.

She's actually here, and her presence causes Bea's stomach to do backflips in her belly.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Allie jokes as she plays with her hair self-consciously. "I'm not that pale, am I?"

"You're alright," Bea brushes it off like it's no big deal.

"Liar," Allie smirks. "Now, I know why I'm out here, but why is your gorgeous self outside at this ungodly hour again? I didn't expect you to be there again so soon."

"Now, who's lying?" Bea snickers.

Allie lets out a strangled laugh.

"Okay, maybe a small part of me hoped you'd be there. Can you blame me?" the blonde licks her lips hungrily at she stares at the other woman.

While Franky's attention makes Bea laugh and roll her eyes, and forget her worries, Allie's knocks the air out of her lungs and steals her breath away. Franky's attention is a spark in the dark and Allie's is a wildfire. It burns Bea's self control to the ground. It makes her want to pull Allie so much closer, just as it makes her want to push her so much farther at the same time.

She wonders if Allie would even speak to her if she were sober.

"What did you take?" Bea asks, directing the conversation back to Allie.

To say Allie is surprised at the question is an understatement. She moves closer to Bea and their shoulders brush, and Bea jolts back, perhaps unconsciously.

Allie stays firmly immobile for the rest of the conversation.

"Does it really matter?" Allie shifts under Bea's hard eyes.

"Will you remember this conversation tomorrow?" Bea fires back, not mad, but not gentle anymore.

Or is it all just a game? remains unspoken.

"You know I will," Allie winks. "I don't forget the pretty ones."

"What did you take?" Bea repeats firmly, fighting to deny the way the compliment makes the butterflies stronger.

Allie seems to hesitate for a second before she pulls a small bag of white powder from her pocket.

"Ice," she sighs. "too many lines to count, but I have a high tolerance now."

She looks at Bea expectantly, a challenging look in her eyes.

She's waiting for Bea to leave her right there and not look back. She's waiting for the vile laughs and the judgmental looks. She's waiting for Bea to call the cops on her. She's waiting for the punch in the guts and the betrayal from a woman she's known for only two days.

People always leave when she tells them about the drugs.

It's not something she's proud of, but it's all she has. A drug addiction. She doesn't have friends. She doesn't have a family. She doesn't have a shoulder to cry on at the end of the day or a lover to embrace her after the rough touch of a stranger.

She's used to being on her own and she would hate to be dependant of someone else, but it doesn't stop her from enjoying Bea's company.

"It's mine now," Bea declares, snatching the bag away from Allie's hand, ignoring the way her fingers linger on Allie's skin.

Bea pockets the drugs and silently dares Allie to do something about it. She dares Allie to fight her for the drugs. She dares Allie to reach inside her pocket herself and retrieve it. She dares Allie to protest and yell at her and cause a riot in the silent park. She communicates with her eyes and Allie listens.

Allie understands.

"Sure," she concedes.

There are plenty of places she can get some ice from. There are plenty of people who'd be ready to give her more of that magical powder in exchange for a roll of bills or a quick fuck, and Allie wouldn't even think twice about it. Both women know that.

Getting gear isn't the problem. It's the easiest part.

Throwing it away is the hardest part.

Allie can stare at a bag of ice for hours, debating whether the high is worth the price of her life. She can weight all the reasons why she should or shouldn't take it, but at the end of the day, she'd keep the bag, just in case of emergency, just in case the pain in her heart hurts too much. And she'd always have ice around her, ready to give her the strength she doesn't believe she has.

Allie knows Bea can throw the drugs away.

Bea just promised her that. And maybe Allie's putting her life in the hands of the wrong person, but she can't risk missing the opportunity that might just help her leave the streets once and for all.

Bea's helping her in a way no one has ever since Kaz was sent to prison.

Allie lets the silence cover her and bury the loaded conversation they're trapped in.

She waits until she feels the air isn't toxic anymore.

"Tell me something about you," Allie murmurs.

Bea doesn't turn to face her when she finally answers, after another endless minute of silence.

"What do you mean?"

"Who are you? We've met last night, and it was lust at first sight," Allie confesses with a wicked smile, not embarrassed at all.

Bea clears her throat, unable to find the proper answer to yet another sexual innuendo. She wants so badly to brush it off, to let it slide over her back and forget about it, but there's something about Allie's voice that sends Bea right off the edge with all the possibilities.

"Sorry, that was a bit forward. I'm not asking about your whole story." Allie reassures her. "I'm not asking for you to tell me about why you're at Wentworth or why you insist on wearing the longest sleeves possible when it's burning even in the middle of the night. I just want to know who you are."

The need to know more about Bea ravages Allie's soul and her words hit Bea's like a bullet.

And as much as Bea wants to be, she isn't bulletproof.

"There's nothing much to say about me," Bea responds shyly. "I've lived in here my whole life. I had two wonderful parents. I met Harry when I was just a kid and I married him. I'm a hairdresser, but I had to close my salon because of… well, I'm just trying to do what's right for me and my daughter."

Allie drinks every word Bea says. Her body vibrates at the way Bea looks at her, a way that makes her wonder if gravity is strong enough to keep her down to earth. Her heartbeat sails whenever Bea smiles ever so slightly in her direction. Her will is barely strong enough to stop her from reaching for Bea's hand and place it on her chest. Her mouth is dry, and she wonders if it's from the drugs, or the way Bea's voice resonates in her soul.

It's stupid, the way those innocent information leaves her aching for more.

"You have a daughter?"

Bea's smile illuminates Allie's grim reality.

"I do. Her name's Debbie," Bea talks like she's introducing Allie to the eighth wonder of the world.

Allie thinks Bea has never looked more radiant than now.

"Tell me about her."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

And more.

Allie will take any small piece Bea wants to give her, and she swears to treasure every story she's given.

Allie doesn't regret asking when Bea starts narrating the time Debbie wouldn't stop bringing snails inside their house.

"I told her snails needed to be outside! But she said they needed friends and they needed a home. So, I told her, she should make a home out of cardboard."

Bea waits a few seconds, enjoying the way Allie waits impatiently for the end of the story. She can't remember the last time someone was so wrapped in her words. It thrills her to know that Allie doesn't seem bored at all in her company.

"Few days later, I go outside and there's just dead snails everywhere," Bea exclaims. "She'd made a little snail hotel out of a snail pellet box."

Bea has nothing but love in her eyes and Allie would kill for time to freeze.

"Snails check in, but they never check out," Allie chuckles and Bea follows her lead, laughing her anguish away as she throws her head back.

It's a freaking miracle Allie doesn't pass out from the feeling of pure bliss that takes over her when she hears Bea cracking up and when she sees Bea's neck stretching beautifully before her eyes.

"There is it," Allie says smugly.

Bea wears a mask of happiness over her face and doesn't ask Allie what she means by that.

She knows.

She knows she's hasn't laugh like this in a while.

Like her life is one worth living.

"She's smart and stubborn, and mostly, she's kind," Bea continues with a distant voice. "I made her go abroad to study. She's seen enough shit here. She deserves more."

"She has you as a mother," Allie states the obvious, "wherever she is, she'll be fine."

"She's good. She didn't deserve to see me like that," Bea continues with a shaky voice.

Allie knows what Bea refers to.

"She won't, ever again," Allie says with a low voice.

Bea nods, unconvinced, but feeling a balm on her heart from Allie's words.

"Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision. She didn't want to go."

There's an aching guilt inside Bea's chest.

"I just want her to be safe," Bea sighs. "I didn't want her to feel like she was unloved or rejected by us, you know? She's everything to me. And she's everything to Harry too. He never touched her."

Allie doesn't know what it's like to live with a violent husband, but she knows what it's like to grow up with a shitty father. Even if her father had never touched her directly, Allie still feels the consequences of too many others of his actions.

"You're protecting her. You're doing what needs to be done."

There's a pause before Bea's lips twist again.

"You know, she believed every word I said until she was eleven." Bea says mischievously. "I made her believe she was invisible once. Next thing I know, she's eating an entire box of cookies in front of me and when I ask her to stop, she tells me it doesn't count because I can't see her."

"Smart indeed," Allie points out.

"She tried to drive my car too! Took my keys and everything. I had to call the bloody neighbors to help me stop her."

"Is she anything like you?" Allie asks.

Bea scoffs.

If her parents were still alive, they'd tell her that Debbie is an angel compared to a young Bea.

Allie seems to read her mind and she giggles at Bea's lack of answer.

"Wild, aren't you?"

"I don't know about that," Bea dismisses the comment with a wave of her hand. "Things change. People change."

She isn't wild anymore. She's been tamed, reduced to a shadow of her former self.

She's not nearly as wild as she was. She misses that time when she was fearless.

"What were you like?" Bea asks, redirecting the conversation towards Allie.

Allie waits in silence, unsure whether to insist or not.

"I was a kid who just wanted to be loved," she answers heartfeltly.

Bea nods knowingly, looking up at the dark sky.

They fall in a comfortable silence and the next hour flies by as they get lost in their own thoughts.

Allie thinks of how she'd love to spend the entire day with Bea, but she knows she wouldn't make it through half the day without seeking a fix. It frustrates her, the way she can't snap her fingers and magically get off the gear, but she knows the process too well to deny the truth.

It's only a matter of time before the cravings come back and she's back crawling to another dealer to escape the nausea and the dizziness.

She doesn't want Bea to see her like that.

She can only hope to be strong enough to resist the urge to take drugs until her next meeting with Bea. There's something about the red-haired woman that makes all ideas of drugs disappear from Allie's mind when she's in her company.

"You know, I don't know much about you," Bea declares after a while. "Nothing you've told me directly at least."

Allie rolls her eyes. Her life isn't something she wants to share with Bea. She's a junkie, a prostitute, a homeless soul in this big city, and she's sure Bea has already guessed all of it. It's nothing glorious, and she's not nearly as interesting as Bea.

"Don't do that," Bea warns her as she gets up, ready to go back to the shelter.

"What?" Allie rushes to her side, suddenly nervous.

Bea stares in Allie's eyes for a second, and they read each other like open books.

"You know what," Bea claims. "Don't act like you're worth nothing. You're better than that. You're worth more than you think."

Bea might not have known Allie for long, but she notices the way the blonde seems to avoid talking about her. Allie always asks questions about Bea, but rarely talks about herself.

Bea notices the clouds that never quite disappear from Allie's eyes. She notices the small faltering of Allie's smile whenever Allie thinks Bea is looking away.

She notices Allie's vulnerability creeping out from under her almost perfect armor.

"I don't know," Allie shrugs.

"You are."

Bea's words fly around Allie's head until Allie starts to believe them.

"If you believed in yourself as much as you flirted, you'd feel a lot better about yourself," Bea teases.

It's all it takes for Allie to regain her confidence.

Her signature smirk is back in place, and she takes a courageous step forward, so close to Bea that she can feel the heat radiating from Bea's body.

"You like it when I flirt?"

"I don't care," Bea scoffs, taking a step back with half of a smile on her face.

She doesn't insist and the blonde respects her need for space.

"Same time tomorrow? If you're awake, that is," Allie suggests. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Allie is dead serious, but Bea rolls her eyes, unsure whether to believe her or not.

"I'll think about it."

"I'll tell you," Allie promises.

She'll let Bea in. She really thinks she will. She really wants to.

She just doesn't know if she's ready for the moment after all is revealed.

"Maybe I won't ask," Bea adds kindly, allowing Allie to relax.

Allie nods slightly and waits for Bea to walk away.

Bea doesn't move. She stands still, her eyes stuck on Allie's. She finds lust and hunger. She finds respect and apprehension. She finds hurt and anger. She finds hope and despair.

She finds something she didn't expect.

Affection. Genuine affection.

It scares the shit out of her.

"You're so gonna be there," Allie winks as Bea finally manages to pull away from Allie's magnetic field and leaves.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. I can't let go of my past

**Thanks a lot for the review!  
**

 **Chapter's title comes from Alone by Beyries, a breathtaking song I'm currently obsessed with.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: I can't let go of my past**

Allie is two seconds away from having a mental breakdown.

She feels so incredibly stupid, giving her gear to a woman she's barely talked to. What the fuck did she expect, that the need for drugs would suddenly vanish? That she'd magically be clean? That she'd be back to how she was before?

It doesn't matter how beautiful Bea is, how soothing her voice is or how fascinating her eyes are, because right now, Bea is nowhere to be seen and Allie feels the withdrawal eating her alive.

When Bea is not here, Allie forgets what it's like to have her around. She forgets what it's like to want to impress someone. She forgets what it's like to take care of herself, because Bea isn't here to remind her that the high she's seeking can be found in other ways than by taking drugs all day.

She kicks a rather huge rock with her feet, feels the pain travel up her leg, and lets herself fall on the hard ground. She leans on the wall and her head knocks the bricks behind her. Her hands pull at her shirt and try to tear it apart, but the fabric is too strong, and Allie is too far gone to really try. She's hot and cold at the same time, and the slightest breeze throws off her body temperature and makes her shake uncontrollably.

She yells, but no one is here to help as her body betrays her and tortures her mercilessly.

She insults whoever gets in her way, whoever walks in front of her, and all she receives in return are stares of disappointment and disgust. She throws up and she's miserable when she realizes she might just vomit again. She passes her dirty hands all over her face too many times and asks some men if they want to have a go at her because that's what she does. That's what she familiar with. That's all she remembers when she's lost her foggy universe.

She won't even resist. She won't even care. They can do whatever the fuck they want with her.

That's what will lead her back to the drugs.

She gets up and walks to the nearest hot spot she can find. It's the middle of the day and she still has hours to kill before she sees Bea again. She can't wait longer. She finds her dealer much faster than she expected. She asks him for her usual and he tells her she looks like a car ran her over.

She laughs it off and tries to shut down the unbearable feeling of shame that's being born in her chest.

She gets the gear easily. So easily that she wonders if her appearance is worse than she imagines it to be.

She shrugs it off and practically sprints back to the alley she has made her own.

She cuts line slowly, carefully not wasting a particle of the white gold.

"Fuck!" she screams right after she's emptied the whole pack.

Six perfect lines are staring back at her and she feels a different kind of sickness creeps in her veins. She shuts her eyes and clenches her fists so hard that her nails pierce the palm of her hands. She almost makes herself bleed, but she doesn't.

She tries to resist. She really does. She thinks of Bea and of their future meeting. She thinks of the unspoken promises they made each other. She thinks of Bea's smile and how privileged she is to have witness it. She thinks of Bea's laugh that still haunts her mind like a song she never wants to forget.

Anyone else in the world might look at her and find her pathetic. They might think she gives up too easily. They might see her as an addict who has no willpower, but she knows how hard she tries to resist, to wipe the lines away and make them disappear. She wants so badly for the drugs to be gone when she opens her eyes, but she knows they'll still be there, tempting her like the poisonous sins they are. That's the cruel thing with addiction, it never stops controlling her.

She stares at the lines she's made. They're chanting her name. They're telling her the greatest high of her life awaits. They're promising her that the pain will stop, once and for all. They're everything she's ever needed.

There's right in front of her.

They're winning.

A second later, she's breathing hard and waiting for the high to take over her soul as tears fall uncontrollably from her red eyes.

The sad reality is that she's met Bea forty-eight hours ago, but she's been married to drugs for most of her life.

She can't do this alone.

* * *

"My name is Bridget Westfall," the blonde introduces herself. "I've been working here for two years. It's nice to meet you."

Bridget's husky voice resonates in the empty conference room where Bea is having her first meeting. There's an open notebook between them so Bea can read everything Bridget might write about her.

There are no secrets here.

"How are you today, Bea?"

Bea is looking at Bridget with defiance in her eyes. She isn't sure what she's supposed to say, and it triggers her fight or flight response. She wants to say that she's doing fine, but she wonders if Bridget will even believe her.

"I'm fine," she answers with a shrug. "I was wondering when I'd have to meet someone."

"It's inevitable. How have you been settling in? I know coming here can be intimidating at first."

Bea thinks of the sleepless nights, but also of the way she's found a group of people ready to welcome her as one of their own. She thinks of Franky's encouragements and Boomer's strong presence, and Maxine's reassuring voice.

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be," Bea says. "I'm tired, but I found some people to talk to."

"Ah yes, Franky and her crew, isn't it? Boomer and Maxine?" Bridget smiles. "I've had the pleasure of talking to them before. They're quite something."

Bea chooses to ignore the way Bridget pronounces Franky's slightly name differently than the other two. She must have misheard anyway.

"Yeah, they've been welcoming me and teaching me what to do and what not," Bea explains. "I didn't expect that." She pauses, thoughts twirling in her mind. "I'm not sure what I expected. It's all overwhelming."

Bridget nods and writes the word _overwhelming_ on the page. It makes Bea rolls her eyes, but she remains quiet.

"I'm meeting you today to talk about what you might need from us and to tell you more about our approach. We believe that women who have been abused are not to blame. We help them rebuild themselves and find new homes. We accompany them, but we don't do things for them. In other words, we guide them, but they're walking in front of us and making the final decisions. We believe in empowerment and feminism, and we do believe that filing an official complaint against a violent ex-partner is beneficial to the victim."

Bea's attention spikes at the mention of the complaint. It's never been an option for her.

Filing a complaint means dealing with the torturous justice system and having to spend hours in a court room, telling strangers about her stories and hoping that they believe her. It means exposing her daughter to everything Harry had done in the previous years when Bea had tried so hard to shield her from it.

It means having to revisit every memory she wants so badly to forget.

"Of course," Bridget says, reading her mind, "We don't force the women to follow that route. We only suggest it and see with them if that's something they want."

"No," Bea's answer is final. "I won't put Debbie through that."

"I understand. I'm not here to force you to file a complaint with the police," Bridget repeats. "We've had many women stay here for a while and move on with their lives, and they never heard from their abusive partner again."

Bea nods, the panic in her eyes fading a little. It's a large city and she's certain Harry has no idea where she is. Maybe she can finally leave the past behind.

Maybe.

"I do need to make sure that you understand that you are forbidden to have any contact with your ex-husband while you here. You cannot tell our address to anyone, and if you ever seen him around, you must tell us."

"That I can do," Bea promises.

She doesn't want to see him either. She doesn't want to talk to him. She doesn't want to hear his voice or feel his presence. She doesn't want to have anything to do with him.

Still, a tiny, almost inexistent part of her wonders what he is doing, and she hates herself for that.

Should she say it? Bea thinks.

Should she say that she wonders if he's alright? That she wonders if he's looking for her? That she wonders if, after all this time, there's still a possibility that he might change?

It feels wrong. It feels like a lethal thought to have during her quest for change. It feels like it's the opposite of what she's supposed to do.

She wants to say it out loud, but she doesn't know how to voice it in a way that Bridget won't judge her.

Bridget must know something, but to Bea's relief, she doesn't say anything. She looks at Bea in a way that keeps her calm, that tells her whatever worries she has will pass.

She's giving Bea time, something Bea has never had before.

"What can we help you with, Bea?"

"I need a place to stay." Bea sighs as Bridget starts writing keywords in the notebook. "I've lived with Harry until now. I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have a family anymore. I don't know anyone. He… He didn't want me to see anyone else."

Bridget recognizes one of the many forms of domestic violence.

"I need a job. I was a hairdresser before I had Debbie. He forced me to sell my salon when she was born so I could stay at home with her. I don't have much money either. He controlled our bank account. I only have a small amount. I kept it from him."

Working with victims of domestic abuse and hearing what they have been through has never been easy, and while Bridget has been at the shelter for two years, she still hurts for what Bea is going through.

"I need a divorce. I need to have my little girl with me again, but what if he doesn't sign the papers? Will I have to see him?" Bea asks. The idea paralyzes her.

"We can arrange a way, so you don't have to," Bridget explains. "Do you have a lawyer?"

Bea shakes her head.

"We'll set an appointment for you with a place we collaborate with. It won't cost you a cent. Now I understand that you have a daughter. I'm assuming you don't want your ex-husband to see her?"

"I want her to live with me," Bea states.

"We can help you with that. We don't have any power on the family laws, of course, but we'll support you."

Bea breathes out in relief.

"I need…"

Confidence. Energy. Passion. Support. Love.

Gosh. She needs so much.

"How about we just start with finding you a lawyer and looking for places where you could live and work? If you have revenues, then you'll be able to know more precisely what your budget will be for an apartment."

"Sure," Bea agrees.

Bridget spends a few minutes explaining to Bea how long it will take for her to get an appointment with the lawyer and what to expect from the divorce procedures. She takes her time, answering every question Bea comes up with and soothing every fear at the same time.

It takes only a few minutes for Bea to know exactly what Franky sees in Bridget.

Bridget guides the conversation, so Bea never has to talk for too long about something she's uncomfortable sharing. She makes sure that Bea knows that she can voice her disagreement anytime she wants and that there will be no repercussion. She twists the road they're walking on so that they always end up at a place where positivity reigns, and Bea marvels at how good all this feel.

She leaves the conference room with more hope in her heart than she's had in years, but she still senses Harry's voice trying to force its way inside her mind.

* * *

Bea is looking at some pictures of Debbie when Franky knocks at her door just before dinner. The brunette's head peaks in Bea's room and, upon seeing Bea nodding, walks in and sits next to her on the bed. Bea wordlessly pushes a few pictures in Franky's direction, encouraging the other woman to look at them, giving her access to the most treasured aspect of her life.

Franky feels privileged, special even.

She hasn't known Bea for long, but Bea has already managed to see beyond her bravado. People always see her as a superwoman, someone unbreakable, unable to feel anything but anger and lust. They always hear the jokes and the sarcasm, but they never listen to the few sincere words she slips in the middle of it all. They'd never share private parts of their life with her like Bea is doing.

She goes through the pictures, surprised at how much Debbie looks like her mother.

"Mini-Bea," Franky grins. "There's no other way to describe her."

Bea hums in approval, recognizing the picture Franky is holding. Debbie, seven years old, face covered with chocolate frosting, wild brown hair flowing around her head.

"She puts her hands right in the middle of the cake and redecorated the house with frosting prints on every wall," Bea says fondly.

"She'll go far in life," Franky states, amused.

"She is going far," Bea chuckles.

Franky looks at the piles of pictures and then back at Bea's loving eyes.

Franky's never had anyone look at her like that. Her dad had been a confused man. He hadn't known how to protect a child. Her mother had been a sick woman. She had had one great love of her life, and it had been alcohol, not Franky.

"I was just checking in, wondered how your first meeting with Gidget was?"

"Gidget?"

"Bridget, Gidget, Gidge… You know, the hot blonde?"

Bea parts her lips slightly in disbelief as she looks at Franky, who's staring at her with the most serious look in her eyes.

"I thought you weren't into her?" Bea smiles slyly.

"Piss off, Red! Beside, I'm not into her! I was simply gifted the great ability to see. Are you jealous?" Franky sticks her tongue out.

"Hell no, I'm not," Bea chuckles.

"I'm meeting her later tonight and I need to know if she's in a good mood. I want to ask her if I'll still be able to see her once I leave here."

There's a need in Franky's words that she can't hide no matter how hard she tries. It's easy to see that she cares about Bridget, and Bea thinks of the way Bridget had said Franky's name.

Like the blonde cares too, on a deeper level.

"It went great," Bea smiles. "At least I think it did. We just discussed what I wanted from Wentworth. She's nice."

Franky's eyes laugh, but her mouth remains a thin line.

Nice is an understatement.

The first time she'd met Bridget, Franky had been a mess. She'd just arrived here, with no bags and no money. She'd called from a public phone after her landlord and chef nemesis Mike Pennisi had kicked her out of her apartment for no apparent reason. She'd vaguely suspected it was because she had rejected him the previous night, after yet another day filled with more harassment than the one before.

The man had been harassing her for months already, and Franky had been close to stabbing him repeatedly.

Bridget had been the one to welcome her at Wentworth.

Bridget and her kind blue eyes, her striking blonde hair and her arms so strong when she'd held Franky for the first time, when Frankly had just collapsed the second she had walked in the shelter.

Bridget and her magical power to make Franky's worries gone.

Franky forever has this moment imprinted in her mind.

"I told you, didn't I? She's great."

"Are you sure that's all?"

"Listen Red, I'm not stupid. I know Bridget is working here. If I said everything I had in mind, I would be kicked out of here so fast, I wouldn't even have time to say goodbye," Franky laughs.

"Wise," Bea points out. "Why her though?"

Franky shrugs, her eyes shifting around the room.

"Why not her? Just because she's working here, I should ignore my feelings? That's bullshit. She gets me. I know what you want to say. That it's her job to get me. But it's more than that, I just know it."

Bea's eyes narrow skeptically at Franky's words.

"Have you ever met someone who just puts a smile on your face for no reason? That's how it feels like," Franky continues.

Allie's face quickly flashes in Bea's mind, but she shakes it away it just as fast.

"Have you ever just met someone and felt an instant connection? It doesn't matter who they are or where they come from, you're just driven by the instinct that you need to get to know them," Franky clarifies.

"You're lucky," Bea says. "I haven't really met anyone like that."

"You're a bad liar."

"Hey, you focus on Bridget, alright?" Bea points out menacingly.

They look at the pictures for a few more minutes before she speaks again.

"Do you think Debbie will be fine if her father isn't around anymore?" Bea asks quietly, never looking away from the pictures.

She isn't sure why she's even talking to Franky about that, but she feels that she can trust her.

"I grew up without my dad," Franky chuckles. "And look where I ended up."

"I'm serious," Bea growls. "I can't have him in my life, but I can't make the choice for her. She's an adult. I… I tried to make a choice for her by sending her away and it's been different ever since."

Frankly stares long and hard at Bea and at the internal dilemma the woman is wrestling with.

"Debbie isn't me. She didn't have a mother who was in love with empty bottles on the kitchen floor. She didn't have a father who ran away from the house as soon as he could because he couldn't face the truth. She has a loving, strong mother, and she doesn't need a father who might ruin that beautiful relationship she has with you. Be honest with her."

"What if…"

 _What if she hates me?_

Bea looks around hysterically, afraid the walls might swallow her alive.

"She won't," Franky states. "Look, I know I can't promise anything, but she won't hate you for trying to protect her. And trust me, Red, she knows everything that's happened. Children know that shit, no matter how much we wish they didn't. They know."

As painful as it is to admit, Bea knows Franky is right.

"I wish I didn't have to do that," Bea breathes difficultly. "I- I was in love with him once."

She clenches her fists and shuts her eyes, exhaling as her chest tightens.

"A long time ago, I loved him," Bea confesses. "I forgave him many times. I thought he would change. I thought I was worth changing for. I blamed myself, and I was convinced that I could help him. I really thought he did change, at some point. But he never did."

Franky shakes her head sadly, thinking that of course, he never changed, or Bea wouldn't be here right now.

"Even today, I- I can't forget about him. I want to forget so badly. I want to move on. I want to go on with my life and be the person I know I can be. But I can't. I can't let him go. I thought he loved me. It's taken me years to admit that he didn't, that he couldn't possibly love me this way. You can't keep hurting someone like that and say that it's love, you know?"

"Red…"

"But Debbie, he never hurt her. He never touched her. He never even yelled at her. He is a terrible husband, but he isn't a terrible father."

Franky recognizes the look in Bea's eyes.

Bea's blaming herself, even today.

She's thinking that Harry loves Debbie, but surely, she isn't worth that same amount of love.

Who could ever love her? She's just a stupid bitch and she doesn't deserve –

"Bea, listen to me," Franky pronounces slowly, snapping her fingers in front of Bea's eyes. "You're spiralling down. It's normal. The way you feel, the way you can't forget him, it's all normal. You have history. He's done terrible things to you, but you have history with him."

Franky remembers that time Bridget had told her about all the subtleties of domestic violence. Victims forgive and forget, and get trapped in a cycle where they are manipulated to believe that their abuser is going to change.

"But listen," she continues, "this man hit you. He hit you and stole your life, and he did that in front of his daughter. He's not as good as a father you think he is."

Bea hears, and listens, and understands what Franky says, and she knows that it's true.

"You're stronger than him," Frankly states with a powerful voice. "You are! You fought your way out of his cage. You've got the scars to prove it. You've got an armor harder than anything he can throw at you. You've got nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of."

Franky's tone is set in stone and she hopes that it convinces Bea.

"Your daughter needs you more than she needs him, trust me on that."

She watches as Bea carefully assembles the pictures and places them in a shoebox on the small desk. When Bea turns around, determination is printed all over her face.

"You really think that?" she asks.

"Fuck yeah, I do."

Bea nods and glances down at her long sleeves for a second.

"Let's go. Boomer will wonder where you are," Bea opens the door and waits for Franky to join her.

Franky sighs, unsure whether she should push more or not, but she settles on the second option. She skips towards Bea and waits for her to lock the door behind them.

They walk toward the dining room and hear Boomer calling their names with enthusiasm.

"You're a fucking queen, Red. A Queen. He can't take that away from you," Franky whispers to Bea before they reach the table and surround themselves with the rest of the group.

* * *

Liz isn't surprised when Bea asks her to open the door at five in the morning for the third day in a row. She is, however, stunned when she sees Bea walking outside wearing a t-shirt, exposing her many bruises to the sky. She doesn't say anything, but she hums in approval.

Bea reaches the bench before Allie this time, and despite the warm weather, she feels naked and cold without her sleeves. She had thought she could do it, but now, she feels ashamed, like she's the one to blame for all the injuries, like she's the one who asked Harry to do this to her. She's feeling small and unprotected, prone to receive more punches at any time.

She worries she's made a mistake, and she has time to play a hundred catastrophic scenarios in her head before a familiar blonde walks up to her.

By the time Allie sits beside her, much closer than the two previous nights, Bea is crossing her arms over her chest and trying to hide as much skin as she can with her hands. The maelstrom of colors and lines is still the first thing that catches Allie's worried eyes.

"You look like hell," Bea hisses before Allie has a chance to say anything.

It's something she does. She attacks before someone else can. She stabs and twists the knife, burns and adds fuel, and she prays to the skies that it's enough to discourage her enemy.

But Allie isn't her enemy and Bea regrets her words the second they leave her mouth. She has no right to say that. Other than the thin layer of sweat Bea knows comes from the withdrawal symptoms, Allie looks beautiful. Allie always looks beautiful.

"You don't know about charm, do you, Bea?" Allie chirps happily, knowing too well what Bea is doing.

If Bea thinks she can outsmart Allie, she's wrong. Allie is born for this. It isn't her first try at being clean and it certainly won't be her last. She's received countless comments on her appearance already and Bea's words are a kiss on the cheek compared to others.

"You're…" Allie lets the words vanish. There's so much she wants to say, but no words could ever be enough.

She frowns and her eyes zone in on Bea's poor attempt at hiding her arms.

Bea adverts her eyes and clenches her jaw.

"Wait, I'm- I'm sorry," Allie fumbles to correct herself when she notices Bea's discomfort grow.

She lets her hands gently rest on top of Bea's arms. They both flinch at the contact. It's soft. It's delicate. It's kind. It's the opposite of what represents every mark. It connects them in a profound way that surprises them both.

"I'm sorry. You've got nothing to hide with me," Allie whispers. "You're beautiful."

She tries to convey how sincere she is with every touch. Her fingers trace gentle caresses on Bea's bruises, never pressing too hard. They follow invisible lines and patterns that only Allie can see. They try to heal every wound and erase every awful memory.

The gesture makes Bea's heart skip so many beats that she wonders how she's still alive.

"Are you okay?" Allie murmurs.

She receives no answer, but Bea locks her eyes into hers, and Allie sinks into the sea of resilience she sees.

Allie's fingers keep dancing over the length of Bea's arms until a single drop falls on the back of her hand. Allie's blue eyes gaze at the heartbreaking sight of Bea silently crying and trying to prevent the deluge from happening.

They sit together, so close that their breaths mix with one another. Allie's left hand stays secured over Bea's right arm. They listen to the silent cries fade slowly, taking the pain away with them.

Allie's heart bleeds out when Bea struggles to breathe at some point, but it passes, and Allie makes the quiet vow to never let Bea go through that alone.

She swears to never leave Bea alone because Bea's been suffering by herself for too long, and Allie knows too well how excruciating it feels to be in this situation.

The hurt doesn't go away when Bea's tears stop falling, but there is a lightness in the air that wasn't there before.

In the spur of the moment, Allie lowers her head and gently kisses the largest bruise she can see.

It breaks the spell that had captured them.

"I'm not gay," Bea claims abruptly, loud and clear for the world to hear.

Allie's eyes shine with amusement when she looks up to the other woman.

"I don't care what you are."

And in that moment, nothing is truer than that simple statement.

Allie doesn't care how Bea labels herself. She doesn't care what Bea's past is because it doesn't define who Bea is. She doesn't care what hardships await them or what challenges life is going to throw at their face. She doesn't care what Bea decides she wants, whether it is friendship or more.

She doesn't care about anything but the fact that every time she looks at Bea, her heart flutters and her brain turns to mush, and the urge to protect Bea overwhelms her.

Bea looks at Allie for a moment, trying to read the blonde's mind.

There's a twinkle in Allie's eyes that brightens Bea's obscure universe.

Bea blinks, and it's gone, and Allie shifts back, allowing more space to exist between the two of them. It's the hardest thing Allie's done because all she craves, all she needs to feel alive in this space and time, is to chase Bea's lips, to claim them as her own and to never let them go again.

But she can't.

She won't.

Not when her vision is still somehow blurry from the drugs. Not when her world is still spinning upside down. Not when her ears are still ringing and buzzing with imaginary sounds. Not when her throat still feels arid and rusty. Not when her body is dying despite her spirit being tortuously alive.

Not when Bea deserves so much more than a spontaneous kiss stolen by Allie's impulsive behavior.

And certainly not when Bea focuses so much on labels that she doesn't realize that love is greater than any category people could ever create.

So when they separate, even though they were never really connected in the first place, Allie's heart is crushed by the heavy weight of grief and remorse.

"This is yours now," Allie croaks, lowering her head and handing Bea the bag of ice she got earlier.

It's half full and Bea's brows shoot up.

"I cut six lines. I had three," Allie admits, refusing to look at Bea. "It was earlier today and right now, I just want to take the rest of it so just… keep it."

It hurts. It fucking kills her to admit that she screwed up, that she couldn't even spend a whole day without caving in. It's the vilest blow to her guts, and the fact that Bea's here to witness her failure destroys Allie even more.

It takes a moment for Bea to reach and slowly removes the drugs from Allie's hands, but when she does, her thumb lightly strokes the back of Allie's hand.

She'd dumped the previous bag as soon as she'd gotten to the shelter last morning, and she's ready to do the same again.

"You're doing great," Bea's sincerity shocks Allie's core.

The blonde sends a questioning glance towards Bea.

"I don't expect you to stop using just like that," the redhead frowns.

There's a thunderstorm in Allie's heart and every word Bea pronounces makes the lightning strike.

"How long have you been on the gear?" Bea asks, throwing delicacy out of the door.

"You really don't want to know," Allie scoffs with an unpleasant smile. She keeps her eyes on the ground, fixing something only she can see.

"Try me."

"Yeah?"

"You told me yesterday you'd tell me everything I'd want to know."

Allie nods, remembering their past conversation clearly.

"Years," she decides to answer. "I stopped counting after five."

The first time she'd had ice, she'd thought she could fly. It felt like the best dream she'd ever had.

Bea's fingers gently push Allie's chin up and time stops once again when they stare at each other's soul for the umpteenth time.

"You're going from years of addiction to three lines. Do you not think this is great?"

"I've tried to be clean before. I just can't do it. I don't even know why I'm trying," Allie argues. "I always fail."

Allie knows too well why she's trying this time.

She's trying because Bea looks at her like she's worth a million dollars and Allie refuses to let her down. She's trying because Bea is everything she has ever wanted, and she wants to be Bea's everything too. She's trying because Bea gives her hope, and it would be a shame to let it all go to waste.

She's trying because she's known Bea for just three days, and the woman already owns her heart.

Her high, battered, fragile, loving heart.

Bea's a thief. She steals everything from Allie. Her drugs. Her breath. Her confidence. Her sanity.

"I believe in you," Bea smiles. "It will take as long as you need, but you're not alone in this."

Allie wants to yell that, yes, she is alone, because where was Bea this morning when everything went to hell? Where was Bea when Allie fell down the rabbit hole once again? Where was Bea when Allie was agonizing in the alley?

It's not fair, and Allie hates herself for thinking that way, but she needs Bea in a way she can't describe.

She can't ask Bea to be everything she needs her to be.

She just can't.

It's too much to ask. Bea would fall and break under the weight of Allie's request.

"I had someone look after me once," Allie reveals. "Her name was Kaz. She's in prison now."

"What happened?"

"Do you want the long version or the short one?" Allie asks.

"What do you think?" Bea deadpans. Not only does she want the long version, she also wants the book, the dictionary and the encyclopedia that go with it.

Allie chokes on the lone laugh that escapes her throat because Bea acts like she's about to hear a normal boring story, but Allie knows it won't be that easy.

"It started when I got kicked out of the house when I told my dad I was gay. He'd rather have me being homeless than in love with a woman," Allie starts with a detached voice. "He took me back in when my mom convinced him it wasn't the end of the world, but then he learned I worked as a prostitute and kicked me out again."

Her first client will forever be a part of her. He'd been gentle, taking his time and making sure Allie was okay with the whole situation.

Her second client had brutally reminded her that humanity wasn't something she could take for granted.

"My dad couldn't accept it, and my mom couldn't either."

Bea cringes. No matter what happens, she can't imagine rejecting her child like that. She'd rather give up She can't even begin to imagine how awful it must have been for Allie.

"I slept in doorways and down alleys. Did you know some of them are more comfortable than others? You really learn about the good alleys to sleep in when you're in the street, believe me," Allie shrugs.

Bea shakes her head in disbelief. Of course, she thinks, Allie would talk about it like it's a joke.

"I started taking drugs about a year after I started working the streets. A year is a long time, you know? When you're in the streets, this shit's everywhere. I tried it with a client who told me he'd pay more if we were both high. Best sex with a client, I tell ya. He rapes me, leaves me for dead and doesn't pay. Actually, he leaves me another bag of ice."

A flash of anger appears in Bea's eyes, but Allie keeps going without giving her a chance to place a word.

"I didn't want to take it. I just looked at it, but I figured it couldn't hurt if I just finished the bag."

She remembers the first time she was high. God, she never wanted it to stop. It was like reaching paradise after spending her entire life in hell.

"And then, I met Marie."

Allie's eyes shine at the memory.

Marie Winter.

The first lover she'd had in the streets. The last one too.

"She offered me food when I was just sitting on the sidewalks and wishing I could die. I thought… I thought she'd helped me get out of the streets. But she also offered me ice. And then one bag lead to another, and another, and next thing I know, I was hooked on heroin, shoving it in my veins everyday. This shit's the most addictive. Ready to run yet?" Allie glances at Bea.

Bea purses her lips and listens. There are so many things she wants to say, but now is not the time. Now is Allie's time.

"It lasted about three years. Maybe four. Time is hard to measure when you can't even remember your own name. Then I got hungry. I got to a point where drugs couldn't stop the feeling of hunger."

Allie sighs.

"That's when you know," she clicks her tongue. "That's when you know you're done for. Hunger in the streets isn't so bad. You find some food off garbage bags. You distract yourself with other hobbies. You take drugs. They stop the hunger most of the time, or they make it bearable. And when they don't anymore, you're fucked. It will kill you. It makes people desperate. I kicked a guy in the balls so I could steal his food. A kid."

Allie wishes she could forget about that moment. He was a teenager younger than her, walking down the street with what had seemed like the most appetizing sandwich in the world.

She had probably traumatized the poor kid.

"I ended up on the stairs of a shelter. Not Wentworth. Another one where Kaz was volunteering."

Allie smiles as she remembers her first encounter with the older blonde she considers her sister. Kaz had told her she looked awful, and forced her to take a shower.

"Kaz took me under her wing and got me off the gear. She held my head over the toilet when I spewed and cleaned me up when I shat myself. She held me down when I wanted to claw my way out of my own body."

Allie breathes deeply, her mind overwhelmed by memories.

"If that isn't love, then what is? When I was at my worst, she loved me, and she saved my life. She's family," Allie sighs. "She's my only family."

Bea's chest throbs under the painful truth that Allie hadn't known unconditional love before Kaz.

"She was part of a gang. The Red Right Hand. They… They beat up the bad guys," Allie struggles to find the right words. "They found every single guy who abused me and beat them up. I helped. I got involved in a fair amount of fights. I'm not proud of what I did, but in the moment, it felt like they deserved it, and revenge gave me a purpose. It helped me step away from the drugs."

Bea nods understandingly. She won't judge. In another life, she would have done the same to Harry. She would have killed him for everything he did to her.

Allie's softness when she interacts with Bea clashes with Allie's past.

"We got arrested," Allie bites her lower lip. "Kaz took the fall for me. She told the screws I had been forced to participate and that I didn't have a violent bone in my body. She got 12 years to serve. I had a few months on probation. That was three years ago, I think. I stayed cleaned for probation and then, I got hooked again. Kaz didn't have to take the fall, you know? But she did, and I reacted by taking more drugs."

Allie's voice is trembling with the everlasting guilt that lives in her heart. She's forcing the words out of her mouth even when they make every part of her body burn. She needs to say them. She needs Bea to know every single skeleton in her closet. She needs a clean state.

"I stopped visiting Kaz. I couldn't let her see me like this. She didn't go to jail so I could go back to the way it was before I met her."

Allie needs to know if Bea will run, like everyone did before, or if she'll stay.

Allie needs her to stay.

Allie has been alone for years, and she doesn't want to be anymore.

"I miss her, but I can't go back."

Bea reacts before she has time to regret it. Her arms circle Allie's body and her hands find Allie's back. She pulls the blonde close to her, and soon, Allie's face rests in the crook of Bea's neck.

Allie sighs peacefully, breathing in Bea's familiar scent. She closes her eyes. Bea's neck smells like home and the warmth of her body feels like a balm on Allie's aching wounds.

When Allie moves back, Bea wishes she could shelter her from the lurking evils of the world.

It's a miracle, Bea thinks, that Allie is the person she is today.

Allie is a wildfire.

She thrives through adversity and burns through the dark with a light so strong that she scares the shadows away. She takes the hatred she's received her whole life and she uses it as fuel, never letting it break her optimism. She smiles and laughs, and flirts like she has nothing to lose, because she knows what it's like to hit rock bottom, and she knows she can survive whatever gets thrown at her.

She'll keep burning for as long as she lives.

"I'm fucking proud of you," Bea whispers.

Allie thinks of Bea's bruised existence and of how proud she is too.

She wants to spend her entire life making Bea proud if that's how it feels like; like she's at the top of the world and she'll never go down again.

It feels better than any drugs she's ever taken.

"Do I get a reward for surviving?" Allie winks, getting rid of the seriousness of the situation.

Bea eyes Allie's body up and down, letting her sight lingers on Allie's perfect curves.

"Maybe later," Bea says in a low voice that provokes an earthquake between Allie's legs.

Allie's eyes darken as Bea licks her lip.

"Really?" Allie blurts out.

She curses the fact that she can't, absolutely can't, control herself around Bea.

"I thought you weren't gay," Allie smiles like the Cheshire cat.

"I thought you didn't care," Bea playfully responds, bumping her shoulder to Allie's.

Allie snickers and slides one of her hand up Bea's thigh, hoping that she isn't crossing a line.

"You can't beat me at my own game, Bea," Allie mocks, when she meets Bea's shocked eyes.

Allie watches as Bea lowers her stare timidly and smiles uncertainly at the ground.

Allie's heart is pounding rebelliously in her chest. Who is she kidding? She's most definitely losing.

"Thank you," Bea says quietly. "For telling me all of this."

"I still work as a prostitute, and I still take gear. Not much has changed," Allie smiles sadly.

"Except I'm here now."

Allie hums in response.

"So why did you come back here?" Allie asks. "I thought I'd scare you away even after the first time."

Bea looks pensive for a moment.

"I don't know," she says. "I really don't."

She doesn't know why the need to see Allie again has been so strong recently, and honestly, she wonders if it really matters.

"Yeah, I don't know either," Allie replies cryptically, her mind lost in the clouds as her fingers lightly touch Bea's thigh.

Bea stiffens when she realizes Allie's hand is resting just on top of her scars. Of course, the blonde has no idea, but Bea still feels her body temperature climbing at lightspeed, and soon enough, she's sweating and seeking a way out of this place with her panicked eyes.

Everything comes back to her: the blade, the pressure, the moment she'd sliced through her skin, the thin lines of blood…

The need to find a blade rushes through her mind.

The need to cut.

The need to hurt herself.

The need to forget, no matter how.

"Are you alright?" Allie asks with a worried voice, leaning closer.

"I'm fine," Bea lies, looking away and adding more space between them.

Allie frowns, debating her next move. She doesn't want to scare Bea away, but she can't leave them both feeling painfully aware of the lie.

"You know… Addiction is a bitch," she states calmly. "Knowing that I can't stop, even if I really want to, it sucks. Telling people about it also sucks because you never know if they'll stick around or just leave you there."

Bea nods, the words offering her a distraction from the urge to run away.

"And the shame, it messes me up. I know what I do is bad for me, but I keep doing it anyway. That's not something to be proud of. Every time I take some gear, it's a battle. It's feeling good one second, and then hating myself the next one."

Allie pauses. She's walking on foreign territory and she isn't sure if Bea is going to fire at her or wave a white flag.

"I still do it. I still get high and then hate myself," Allie adds slowly. "It isn't easy, but I've accepted that I do it. And when I tell people, I don't have any expectations. They can do whatever they want, they're not me. They'll never get me."

Allie removes her hand from Bea's thigh.

"It isn't just addiction, you know? Sometimes, it's just the small things that we do because we need to, not because we want to. Sometimes, it's just about finding a way to escape from all the shit thrown at us, and we just take the first road that we see because we're in a hurry to forget. It doesn't mean that we're terrible people. It doesn't mean that it's… forever."

Allie's eyes lock with Bea's and don't let go.

"I'm not here to judge you. Whatever past you have, it won't change anything for me."

"You don't even know about my past."

"I want to. If you'll let me, and whenever you're ready, I'll be there for you. I'll stay, unless you tell me to go."

Allie's eyes shift to Bea's pants, and Bea wonders if Allie can see through them, can see the scars and the scabs, and the marks she coldly inflicted herself. She wonders if Allie can feel the way they itch so badly, even today.

She wonders if Allie can see the pain, the self-hatred and the countless regrets she has.

She wonders if Allie can see the excruciating fear she lives with.

She wonders if Allie really means it when she says she'll stay.

Fuck. She hopes Allie means it.

"Don't go," Bea whispers with a voice so quiet that Allie almost misses it.

This time, when Allie gently places her hand on her thigh, Bea isn't scared.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	4. Your heart isn't safe

**Chapter's title comes from "Forest Fires" by Axel Flovent.**

 **I personally like this chapter a lot. Every detail matters!**

 **Thank you all for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Your heart isn't safe**

Bea stands in front of a mirror.

She's glowing. The bruises are slowly disappearing. Their colors are tamed, and their shapes are blurry. They no longer look like they were just freshly engraved on her pale skin. They no longer remind her of her failure to protect herself. Instead, they are reminders that she's a survivor.

She grows to embrace a new rhythm of life at Wentworth. The house itself is still as welcoming as it was on her very first day. It wraps Bea into its warm ambiance and its colorful people. She claims her place slowly, dipping her toes into the water first, and then diving into meaningful conversations with everyone that lives there.

She learns to be convincing when she speaks, and her leadership makes the other women respect her. It's strange at first, and she wonders if they're not playing with her and pretending to be her friend while planning her demise. She's always looking over her shoulder, expecting someone to stab her in the back.

She never lets her guard down, until a fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night and everyone runs to her room to make sure she's safe.

She leaves her armor behind when she realizes she hasn't just found friends.

She's found a family.

* * *

Allie leans against a brick wall.

She stares blankly at the various cars passing her by while counting down the minutes that separate her next meeting with Bea. It isn't a busy street, but there's still enough movement to keep her busy. She doesn't recognize any of the vehicles, and barely pays enough attention to notice what color or shape they are. She waits patiently until her sight catches a familiar man walking down the street.

She embraces him, warmly and with a little too much enthusiasm, but he doesn't complain. She's confident when she asks him what services he's looking for, and her eyes light up when he offers her a price she can't refuse. He's a regular, and regular aren't shy in asking what they want.

She asks him to pay first, because she's learned that people could not be trusted in the streets. He gives her the money and they head to a motel, one that Allie knows won't be raided by cops at this time of the evening. She lets him peel her clothes off until she's bared under his touch and moaning things she knows he wants to hear. It doesn't take long and soon, he's done using her and leaves her in the shadows of the room.

She leaves her clothes on the floor and her eyes scan the room.

She forces herself to not think of Bea.

She reminds herself that she's stronger when she's alone.

* * *

Bea meets with Bridget numerous times.

She receives whispered advices and understanding smiles rather than the brutal orders she's gotten used to. She's always consulted when it comes to important decisions, and she beams when she meets with her lawyer for the first time to talk about divorce. Every document she signs, every plan she makes, they all exist only to bring her closer to a brighter future.

She never misses a meeting. Even when she gets sick, even when she's so tired that her eyelids are closing by themselves, even when she'd rather be anywhere else in the world, she goes and talks, and listens. Sometimes she gets mad and cries, wondering why she'd ever agreed to be here in the first place. Sometimes she smiles and laughs and feels immensely grateful to be alive.

She feels more hopeful than she's ever been before.

* * *

Allie meets with a few members of the Red Right Hand.

It isn't something she really wants to do, but it's the only way she knows to hear news about Kaz. She was Kaz's right hand, and people still respect her, even when she's high and her eyes are so red that she might as well be bleeding out.

She listens to everyone and tries to memorize any information related to Kaz's well-being. Most of the time, she clenches her fists when they tell her that Kaz is becoming someone entirely different than the woman she used to know.

She misses many meetings. It doesn't really matter. The Red Right Hand used to be her priority, but it isn't anymore. Whenever they talk to her about their past actions, she wishes she could forget all of it. She knows it's something she must live with for the rest of her life.

She still attends every other meeting and longs for the day she'll hear positive news.

* * *

Bea spends some time with Boomer.

It's hard. She can't get past Boomer's defenses, no matter how much she tries. She thinks Boomer will never accept her as part of the group, until she gets sick with a gut-wrenching stomach ache that leaves her to bed for two entire days. Boomer never leaves her side, bringing her food and drinks at every hour of the day. When Bea heals, Boomer looks at her like a proud mother would.

Boomer's fierce loyalty leaves her speechless. Bea locks herself in her room one day, feeling like she can't do anything anymore. Boomer forces her way in and distracts her from the most complexes issues with humor and clever comebacks. It makes Bea cheeks hurt from how hard she laughs, and she feels her body rejuvenating itself.

She feels more joy than she's had in years.

* * *

Allie laughs at the cardboard box.

She's alone, in the alley, and it's the middle of the day. She can't focus on what is going on around her, because she's too busy being lost in her head. She's riding a high so powerful that she struggles to discern where reality ends and illusions starts. It doesn't really matter, for she feels as pure and innocent as the very first time she'd fell in love.

She doesn't remember why she took the gear this time. She just remembers needing a fix, again. She remembers the lines, and the rush in her mind when they'd kick in. She thinks she could be shot in the heart and survive. She makes conversation with the cardboard box next to her, and she wishes she had someone to make out with. Anyone would be fine, but no one is here with her.

She's filled with sadness when she realizes that the drugs are her most loyal friend.

* * *

Bea exchanges words with Maxine almost every early evening, when the other woman's medicine is draining her energy, but keeping her awake.

They share way too many cups of tea to count, and Bea still admires Maxine's softness like the very first day. She finds out that breast cancer is the affliction stealing Maxine's life. The truth puts tears in Bea's eyes, but a smile perpetually haunts Maxine's, as if she were forever immune to the hardness of her life. Bea thinks Maxine must be an invincible angel.

She spends too much time worrying about Maxine, and Maxine does the same for her, and they both become ridiculously close in a short amount of time. She swears to protect Maxine from the cancer, even if she's well aware that it's a battle that isn't hers to fight. It doesn't stop her from accompanying her friend to all her medical appointments.

It's harder than she expects, and Maxine holds her hand like Bea is the one who's dying.

She feels humble.

* * *

Allie uses some of her money to buy food everyday.

It isn't much, mostly cheap sandwiches and random drinks. She doesn't steal anymore. She almost got caught once, and prison wasn't something she wanted to add to her long list of mistakes. She stares at the more expensive products for a long time before she finally lets go, accepting that she still can't afford them. She could, but that would require her to stop using, and she isn't there yet.

She chews a sandwich that tastes like nothing and finishes it within minutes, making the hunger disappear for a few hours. She dreams of a warm meal and she drools when the scents of the restaurants from the streets around her reach her nose. She seeks a temporary shelter to take a shower and is gifted with a bowl of homemade soup.

She swallows the rich, delicious liquid like it's her last meal on earth.

* * *

Bea answers Franky's knock on her door with a smile on her face.

Franky always mysteriously appears in Bea's room right after she's done with a meeting with Bridget. It doesn't surprise Bea anymore. She talks about how it went, answers Franky's questions, and quickly redirects the conversation on something else. She loves how easy it is to talk to Franky. There's no expectations, no pressure, no judgement.

What she doesn't know is that Franky juggles with the different verbal and non-verbal cues she perceives from Bea. Franky always finds a way for Bea's voice to be the loudest one, and she knows exactly which buttons to push to challenge Bea without ever crossing the line. She makes snarky remarks, and soon enough, Bea finds herself unable to imagine herself without Franky's daily words.

When Bea carelessly argues with Franky, she feels confident.

* * *

Allie is at war with a client.

It isn't her first battle, and it won't be the last, but this night, she's had less gear than usual, and she's out for blood. She screams and even punches the man in the face when he refuses to leave the motel room after they're done with business. He tells her he loves her, and she frowns, unable to believe him. He tells her he's fallen for her, and she laughs, and shakes her head, and orders him to leave her alone.

She isn't sure what love is, but she knows it isn't a quick fuck in a dirty motel.

He finally walks out, and she rolls her eyes when she's alone. She sits on the bed, her mind lost within itself. Love, she scoffs at the thought. There's no such thing as love between her and her clients, and even if there was some kind of affection, she's attracted to women. He isn't the first one to be fooled by the nature of their relationship.

She groans when she realizes she's just lost another client, another source of income.

* * *

Bea calls Debbie.

She longs for her daughter's presence. She tells her about every small insignificant thing that's happening in her life, and Debbie listens, laughs, and encourages her to speak more. It brings a smile on Bea's face every time. She promises her daughter to protect her, to love her to the moon and back for as long as she lives, and Debbie does the same. Bea hangs desperately to the one aspect of her life that remains unchanged.

She asks her for forgiveness for the way they left thing, that fateful day at the airport. Debbie says it's alright, even tells her that she's doing good and making new friends in the foreign land.

But her voice shakes, and it sounds like she's trying too hard, and Bea doesn't believe a word that Debbie says.

It's fine though, because Debbie will be back in a few weeks to spend time with her mother, and Bea thinks that whatever is broken between them can be fixed then.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, lessens the depth of her love for her daughter.

At some point, Bea thinks she hears a male voice calling Debbie's name.

She lets it echo in her head long after the call is over.

* * *

Three weeks come and go, during which Bea heals and Allie fights with herself.

Even though Bea's meetings are scattered through time and space, sometimes jammed all in one day, sometimes discreet and rare, one encounter becomes a daily obligation. Everyday, at five in the morning, Bea walks to the park and sits on her usual bench. Allie always shows up to spend time with her and it soon becomes an unofficial contract that they meet every morning before the sun is up.

Sometimes, Allie is high, and she makes no sense when she opens her mouth. Sometimes, she's sober, and she looks like she just crawled her way out of her grave. Sometimes, she barely says a word and just lets Bea talks about anything the older woman wants to talk about. Sometimes, there's no marks on her body, no hint that a client requested Allie's services, and it makes Bea breathe a little easier.

Most of the time, Allie bites her lower lip and lets her gaze work its way up and down Bea's figure. It sends tingles all over Bea's body.

Allie always tries to be there for Bea, and Bea does the same.

No matter in what state of mind Allie shows up, she's always surrounded by a halo of childish innocence that spreads to Bea. She's always looking at Bea with lust, affection and trust in her eyes. She always has her full attention directed at Bea.

No matter how shitty her night is, Allie always cares about Bea.

Hell, no matter how shitty her entire life is, Allie wears optimism like a superhero cape.

And Bea is being charmed by Allie a bit more every time they meet.

It scares Bea, but for once in her life, fear isn't synonymous with pain.

* * *

Three weeks and one day after their first meeting, Bea receives news from Harry.

It's a simple text message, one that seems innocent to the untrained eyes, but that sends Bea's mind in panic the instant she reads it.

 _Hi. I want to see you before I sign any divorce paper._

She immediately changes her phone number, afraid that he'll start harassing her. The rest of the day flies by, filled with anger and disappointment. It drives Bea mad, and in her impulsive moments, she makes her scars bleed again when her fingernails scratch them too intensely. She watches the blood leak from the thin lines and wishes she could disappear within them.

She feels like a failure for hurting herself again.

She feels like doing it again anyway.

When she falls asleep after spending most of the night awake and tormented, she forgets to set her alarm, and thus, forgets Allie for the first time. She oversleeps.

That night, Allie waits.

She waits and waits and waits until the sun blinds her.

She realizes she misses Bea more than she'd anticipated, and it destroys her.

It absolutely shatters her because missing someone like she misses Bea should be a crime. It should be a fucking crime because her heart is bleeding for someone who deserves so much more than her, and her chest is being crushed with the weight of her feelings, and her throat is being lacerated with all the words she can't pronounce.

She can't fucking believe it.

Until that moment, she had managed to convince herself that what she felt for Bea was purely physical, and now, she's being slapped in the face with the bloody truth. She fucking cares about Bea, on a level that defies the borders of friendship and sneaks into the land of romantic feelings, a land Allie had tried really hard to avoid until now.

She finds herself walking to the shelter and staring at its closed doors until her legs ache. She walks away a mere ten minutes before Bea rushes outside, having heard from one of the other woman that there was a strange blonde woman waiting outside the house for no reason.

Bea spends the following night awake, fighting sleep to make sure she doesn't miss Allie again. Her eyelids are heavier than ever, but she jumps in her room, wanders around the house and even stops to talk with Vera, who is working the night shift now. Bea is determined to stay up all night.

She leaves the shelter at four thirty in the morning, stepping into the dark, dashing towards her personal source of light. She waits anxiously and every minute feels like a thousand years, but eventually, she sees an hesitant Allie walking up to her.

Allie doesn't sit this time, just stares at Bea, silently pleading her to make this quick, to break her heart as quickly as she stole it, and Bea sees defeat triumphing in the bluest orbs.

Allie is waiting, again, for Bea to dump her and tell her it was all a terrible mistake. After all, it was all too good to be true and she should have seen it coming. Nothing good ever happens to her.

Bea can hear her heart cracking and breaking at the sight.

It's ridiculous, how close they'd gotten in a few weeks.

Bea almost gets up and pulls the other woman into her arms, but it feels like her arms would become a cage for Allie's fragile silhouette. Bea only locks her eyes into Allie's worried ones and asks her to sit.

Later that night, when Bea falls asleep and lets her head rest on Allie's shoulder, and when Allie's arm protectively wraps around her, something shifts between the two women.

They'll never be the same.

* * *

"Don't you think we should see each other in daylight?" Allie ponders as she looks up to the one star that shines through the city's polluted skies. "I can tell you're tired. You're not a morning person, are you?"

"I'm fine," Bea replies, her eyes firmly fixed on Allie's as she hides yet another yawn.

Every time they meet, Bea sees the way Allie nearly runs towards the bench, her body and soul much more exhausted than Bea's, and Bea would rather fall asleep on the cold hard ground than she admits she's tired. She's not stupid. She's seen the way Allie's eyes light up when they meet, as if the previous hours suddenly stopped existing, and she feels the same way.

"You're such a terrible liar," Allie scoffs. "Go on then, close your eyes. I promise I won't disappear."

"I'm not tired," Bea stubbornly insists, glaring at Allie.

It takes a second for Allie to give up the fight.

"Bea," Allie clicks her tongue, "Stop staring. I get it, you like me."

"You're so full of yourself," Bea grins, not denying the accusation.

"You like it."

Bea rolls her eyes, but she isn't fast enough to avoid Allie's hands poking at her sides and arms.

"Come on, admit it. I mean, why else would you still go out at this shitty hour? Don't tell me… You just like hanging out with me," Allie sings with the most satisfied look on her face.

The words are light. They're not intended to be serious, and soon, the two women engage in a playful battle for dominance as they gently shove each other. It's funny until their fingers brush together and their hands can't seem to let go of each other.

Then, it's serious.

It's longing stares and deafening silences. It's like receiving a bucket of ice cold water on the head at the end of a night spent downing shots and sipping exquisite cocktails. It's like a vivid paradisiac dream being interrupted by the loudest alarm. It's a thousand panic buttons being slammed simultaneously in Bea's mind.

Bea squeezes Allie's hand lightly before releasing it. It's something they started doing, even though Bea isn't sure what it means, what it is, but she enjoys it.

"For real, don't you want to meet after getting a full night of sleep? At least, think about it?" Allie suggests, and Bea nods, unable to deny her anything.

Allie lowers herself and sits on the edge of the bench as she rests her head against its back. She shoves her hands in her pocket and looks up to the black firmament.

"Are things still good at Wentworth?" she asks.

It's an innocent question, but it's really just another way to ask Bea if she's safe.

"Yeah," Bea smiles genuinely like she can't quite believe it herself. "I've started looking for places to live. For me and Debbie. The, um, the divorce papers are still left out there and I don't know what Harry is doing."

He wants to meet her, but she doesn't tell Allie about that.

Bea hasn't told Allie about the depth of the violence she'd endured, and the blonde never asks, never talks about it. She lets Bea mention it first, and then she listens and assembles the pieces of the puzzle she's given. She learns more about Bea than she could ever ask for.

Bea risks glancing at Allie, only to see her looking back at her attentively.

"I'm just waiting. It's a bit scary," Bea admits, her head high and her posture as straight as an 'i'. "I think I have a good chance to get out of this now. For the first time in so long, I see a future without him in my life. I want it. I want that future, for me and for Debbie. She deserves that."

"So do you," Allie points out. "Don't ever forget that."

"I don't know about that," Bea responds sourly. "I've waited too long. I've asked my daughter to leave. I've got no money. I've got no friends."

"You got me."

Bea shoots another perplexed glance at Allie with a question stuck in her mind.

Are they really friends?

Or are they less than friends?

Are they only the result of a lucky encounter that morphed into a regular thing? Are they just a temporary duo sharing secrets under the moonlight but too afraid to coexist in the light of the sun?

Or worse, are they becoming more than friends?

Are they going to shine brighter than the sun?

Are they going to burn themselves if they get too close?

Bea doesn't want to think too much about it. She refuses to label what they are, to give in to that pull in her stomach. She'd rather let it be, without questioning it, and for what feels like the billionth time, Allie doesn't push her.

"Debbie misses her father. She never tells me, but I know her enough. I can't stop her from seeing him." Bea sighs, regrets crawling out of her heart.

"You're doing the best you can," Allie offers.

Bea nods, but she doesn't answer. Her lips form a thin line.

"What about the money?" Allie asks. "Did you have a job before all of this?"

"I owned a salon. I'm a hairdresser. I was one of the best in there. Harry asked me to quit."

Allie pushes herself back up on the bench, so she's leveled with Bea. She waits, hesitates, before she asks:

"Asked you? Or forced you?"

Allie doesn't push Bea to speak about personal matters, but she refuses to let her distort reality with words that don't represent the truth.

"He forced me," Bea concedes. "If I'd stayed there, he would have left me, and he would have taken Debbie with him. I couldn't risk it. I stopped working and I stayed at home with my daughter. I got to protect her, so I was fine with it."

Allie nods silently, an unreadable look in her eyes. If she had money, she'd buy Bea a brand new salon and she'd personally beg each of her old clients to come back. But she doesn't, and her brain is buzzing with different ideas to help Bea.

"You can tell me these things," she almost pleads. "I can help you if you'll let me."

She notices Bea squirming on the bench and changes the subject.

She always changes the subject.

"How does my hairstyle look? Give me the professional opinion," She wiggles her brows.

Bea takes five long minutes, pretending to analyze every single hair on Allie's head, much to the younger woman's disbelief.

"I like that color. I reckon you'd look better lighter. I could do it for you one day, give you a cut and color," Bea offers, once again making Allie's heart beat too fast for its own good.

Damn traitorous heart.

"You reckon?" Allie questions, a sudden sceptical veil in her eyes.

She'd try really hard to fix her hair after her first meeting with Bea. It's a long and messy dark-blonde beast, and a lost cause. The thought of Bea's fingers pulling at her hair and massaging her scalp makes her shiver.

"I'll remember that," Allie answers with a smug voice. "You better be as good as you say you are."

"Oh, I am. The best you'll ever have."

Bea winks, actually winks, and Allie nearly loses her mind thinking of other situations where Bea might look at her like that, dominating her with a simple glance.

"How's your work?" Bea asks nonchalantly as Allie squints her eyes at her.

"Do you really want to know or are you just being unnecessarily polite with me?"

Allie had always assumed Bea would never ask her about her job, because Bea surely doesn't seem like she's comfortable talking about sex.

"Is that how people ask you when they want to know?" Bea replies, suddenly shy.

"They don't ask," Allie says with a mocking tone. "Normal people never ask."

"I'm not normal," Bea shrugs as her eyes study the ground.

"Oh yeah, I know that. You're definitely special, Bea Smith."

Because no normal person would ever manage to _own_ Allie the way Bea does.

Because even if Allie is a natural flirt with just about every woman she meets, she wants Bea, and only Bea.

"It's alright," Allie answers, speaking slowly at first to give Bea a chance to change her mind. When Bea nods ever so slightly, Allie continues. "What do you want to know?"

Bea looks as comfortable as a fish on dry land and fiddles with her hands, unable to provide an answer.

"Let's see," Allie thinks out loud. "I start at around nine in the evening and by four in the morning, I'm all done. I don't really take new clients anymore. I have regulars that come and go, and they pay well enough for me to eat and get through the days. Sometimes I see many people in one night, sometimes I don't, it all depends on what they want. It can be as quick as five minutes or as long as four hours. Some times are rougher than others, but recently, it's been manageable."

Bea makes a face and Allie stops talking.

Allie feels no shame for what she does, but she knows how her job is perceived by the rest of the world.

She doesn't fear the haters and the scums that look at her like she's worth nothing. She bites back when someone calls her names. She fights back when someone throws a look of disgust her way.

She takes it all. She takes everything and channels it into strength to prove them that she's more than a stereotype. She's more than a street worker. She's more than a junkie. She's capable of living a respectable life, a life she actually cares about, no matter what they might think.

She talks about sex like she would any other subject. She could explore the subject of sex and orgasms and masturbation for hours and keep a stoic face. Her sexuality and her job are nothing she's scared of.

People can judge all they want, but they will never break her.

The people Allie thought were supposed to love her most gave her shit, so the opinions of strangers are nothing but a bit of dust being blown her way. She can dismiss them all with a small movement of her hand.

And yet, Allie thinks that if Bea turns out to be one those pricks that judge her, she would fall apart.

"What are you thinking?" Allie asks with the smallest voice Bea's ever heard.

"Nothing," Bea quickly says. "I just… Do you do it for the drugs?"

"I do it because I need money," Allie swallows the hesitation away. Her sight hardens. "I do it because, in this world, you can't have shit without money. No food, no water, no roof above your head, no clothes. It's a job. I started when I got kicked out and it's- it's the only thing I know. It just happens to be an unconventional job, something different. And yes, amongst other things, I use the money to get some drugs."

"I'm sorry, I just- Sex isn't really something I-" Bea is at war with herself, struggling to find the right words and the perfect sentences. "Sex with Harry wasn't- …"

"I get it," Allie saves her.

She hates to think about what Bea's words imply. She hates to think about the ways Harry might have ruined sex for Bea. She hates to think that the other woman might only associate sex to pain from now on. She hates to think that someone in this world had touched Bea in a way that hadn't conveyed love and respect.

"You know, what I do, it isn't sex. It's just fucking," Allie explains as she strokes Bea's hair softly, curling her fingers in-between the red strands. "It's just two bodies being together for a moment. Real sex, good sex, it happens in your head too."

There's a fire burning in Bea's stomach, and she wonders if that's what Allie means. She doesn't ask. She isn't ready to find out the answer. She would run away before Allie even open her mouth.

"Do you see clients every night?"

Bea curses herself mentally. What is wrong with her? Is that even the kind of questions that she wants to know the answer to? Is it even something she can ask in the first place?

Allie seems to reach the same conclusion as she stares silently at Bea, genuinely wondering if she needs to answer that question.

"I don't," Allie finally replies. "Like I said, I don't take new clients. I only have regulars, and sometimes they show up, sometimes they don't."

The answer satisfies Bea, whose cheeks are turning pink.

"I- I don't know why I asked that," she stammers with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I didn't really want to know, I just can't control my mouth and my words, and everything's jammed in my head."

"Hey," Allie whispers, delicately taking Bea's hand. "It's alright, I don't mind."

A breeze blows their insecurities away as they fall into a comfortable silence, Allie's hands never leaving Bea's. It's Bea's anchor to this real world while her mind is clouded by images of Allie spending her nights in the arms of strangers that aren't quite strangers anymore. She would never ask Allie to stop, to give up her job, just like she wouldn't look at her differently, but she recognizes the rush of jealousy creeping up in her veins.

Bea closes her eyes, hoping it will make that unpleasant feeling disappear.

It works, but as soon as she reopens her eyes and locks them into Allie's, she feels it coming back.

"It doesn't bother me. I promise." Bea frowns. "I just want you to be safe."

It's the closest she can come to telling Allie that she's worried about her, that she's been worried about her since they met, that if something were to happen to Allie, Bea would stop at nothing to get justice.

It's not the job she's worried about. It's not Allie's behavior that worries her. It's everyone else's.

"You care about me," Allie breathes out, moving closer.

It's a statement, not a question, and the fact makes her stomach do backflip inside. Bea cares about her, she really fucking does, and Allie feels her world bending and shattering under the influence of the untold confession.

Bea cares about her.

Bea cares about where Allie goes at night, when the world turns its sight away from the unfortunate souls that have no choice but to stay awake in the darkness.

Bea cares about what Allie does during the day when the aftermath of the night hits her like a nuclear bomb and leaves her sick of herself and of the world that surrounds her.

Allie can sense, by the way Bea looks like she's about to pass out, that Bea is as shocked as she is by the revelation.

Allie thinks that Bea might be even more shaken by the truth than she is. Petrified, even.

They're so close, and their lips could connect at any moment, but they're also lightyears away from one another, each of them living on their own planet as the bridge that links them is slowly being built.

Bea blinks, moves back a centimeter away, and Allie nods absently, giving the other woman plenty of space to exist.

"What are you thinking about? Allie asks.

Bea thinks that Allie keeps opening herself and talking about her life like she truly trusts her.

She wishes she could do the same, she wants to, but the idea of talking about Harry terrifies her.

"We have a dinner," Bea rambles, her voice as loud as thunder in a clear sky. "It's just a small casual thing. A celebration for one of the woman. She's leaving the shelter and we're going to this restaurant and I thought maybe you could go with us if you're free? You don't have to say yes, there'll be a lot of people, but Franky, that's the woman, she's quite nice once you get to know her. But if you're busy, it's no problem. Really, if you work or if you've already planned something, or - "

"Do you always ramble that much when you ask someone out?"

Allie's glittering blue eyes are magical, and Bea suddenly remembers to give some air to her lungs.

"It's not a date!" Bea protests with little conviction. "There will be more people."

"Never said it was," Allie grins like it's an early Christmas. "It's your words, not mine."

"Will you come or not?" Bea rolls her eyes once again. "We leave at eight tonight."

"You gonna make me?" Allie chuckles, a devilish look in her eyes as Bea turns a shade redder.

Bea gives the address to Allie.

"I might join, but I can't tell for sure," Allie whispers, a resigned look on her face.

Bea doesn't respond.

* * *

Franky is beaming. Her life could not get any better, she thinks, even as the clouds open above her and pour their contents on her head.

She tries hard to control the smile that appears on her face when she sees Bridget joining their group outside the shelter. She's managed to convince the psychologist to join them for dinner and it had taken three long days. Bridget had resisted, but Franky had begged and begged, and she hadn't let go.

Maybe Franky had seemed desperate, but it had worked.

And now she's smiling so much that she wishes she could tape her lips down.

It is her last evening at the shelter. She'll move out tomorrow morning, and the women who leave Wentworth rarely come back. Franky can't bear the thought of never seeing Bridget again and she considers tonight to be her last chance to convince the blonde to keep in touch.

She's more nervous than she's ever been, and she knows her odds aren't good, but she'll die trying. She's known many people in her life, and most of them only stayed with her to take advantage of her. Bridget isn't one of them.

During their first meeting, Franky had tried to shut Bridget out. She'd shrugged and lied and used sarcasm to keep Bridget out of her twisted world because she'd refused risking having her heart broken again. She had tried to spare Bridget's heart too, because everything she touched became rotten, and everyone she met ultimately ended up dead or heartbroken.

Bridget hadn't given up. She'd fought to bring Franky's fortress down everyday.

It had worked too well, and now, weeks later, Franky isn't ready to say goodbye to the one person whose sole presence can make her laugh until she has tears in her eyes.

"Gidget," Franky grins like she's just won the lottery. "I can't believe you finally decided to join us!"

Bridget narrows her eyes at the brunette.

"How many times do I need to remind you that my name is Bridget?"

"I prefer Gidget," Franky says innocently. "I'm glad you're here."

"I seem to recall you telling me that if I didn't come tonight, I'd have to live forever with the crushing guilt of not celebrating my favorite person's departure from the shelter. That I'd end up so lonely, even all the cats in the world wouldn't be able to comfort me. That I'd be wanted by the authorities for betrayal to my country."

"Nah, you must have misheard me," Franky smirks, remembering the way Bridget had rolled her eyes exuberantly during that conversation.

"Of course, I must have," Bridget answers. "I guess I can leave you with your friends then? I do have some work to finish."

"We were just about to leave, it's too late for you to ditch us" Franky insists, linking her arm with Bridget's and holding an umbrella above their heads. "You can't make these ones wait too long," she gestures at Boomer, Maxine and Bea staring at her in disbelief. "Are we ready?"

Franky doesn't wait for an answer and starts to lead the group away from the shelter. Her megawatts smile is attracting strange amused glances from strangers, but she couldn't care less, and Bridget sighs, relaxing and leaving her professional role behind.

It's been too long since she's felt as free as she does right now, with Franky by her side, rambling about the weather and its shitty timing for dropping cloud pee on their heads.

They've decided to go to a small restaurant a few streets away from the shelter. It's Bridget's recommendation, and Franky has too much fun telling the group that if the food sucks, it's Bridget's fault.

"It won't suck, as you say so nicely," Bridget shakes her head. "I've been there before."

"I'm a professional chef! I know good food when I see it," Franky winks.

"You're incorrigible."

"Maybe, but I don't hear you complaining about it."

Bridget remains quiet and Franky laughs heartfeltly.

As they arrive, Bea keeps getting distracted by her surroundings, glancing around at every corner, seeking someone she doesn't find. They sit at the table, and she still searches for a familiar blonde, ignoring the people she came in with. She's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't hear her name until Boomer is yelling profanities in her ear.

"What?" Bea asks.

"You're rude," Boomer declares so loud that the whole place hears her.

"Excuse me?"

"Distracted?" Franky stares at her curiously, analyzing every inch of Bea's unspoken cues. "Boomer's been talking to you for five minutes."

Bea shrugs, shaking off the feeling of disappointment from her mind. She can't say that she's surprised that Allie hadn't shown up. It's late, it's raining, and Bea is with a group of people Allie doesn't know at all. Plus, Bea thinks as she winces internally, Allie is probably working and making sure she has enough food for tomorrow.

Bea feels her own stomach twist. She's asked Allie to come to a restaurant. Allie, whose wallet is probably emptier than Bea's bank account when it was controlled by Harry. How stupid of her.

"Just a nice place is all," she says, convincing no one.

"Yeah, right," Boomer laughs. "You look as lost as a five-years old that's been left alone in a grocery store."

"No, Booms," Maxine declares wisely with a small knowing smile. "She looks like she's been stood up."

Franky gasps and her mouth stays open as she looks at Bea. She's about to burst out laughing when Bea interrupts her.

"Don't be ridiculous," Bea takes a sip of her water.

"Nuh-uh, Red, I know that look," Franky claims with a wicked smile "Maxie's right. Who did you invite to my party? Without me even knowing, might I add… I knew you had it in you!"

"No one," Bea insists forcefully. "What did you want, Boomer?"

With a soft touch on her arm from Bridget, Franky lets it go, but her eyes promise Bea that this isn't over.

"Now I want to know who you're seeing behind our backs," Boomer protests, feeling slightly betrayed by the fact that Bea hasn't told them anything.

For Boomer, friendship means no secrets. It means unconditional love and shared lives. It's how she feels cared about with her friends, and she's come to consider Bea as an important asset of their group.

"Alright, Boomer, we'll interrogate her when Gidget isn't manipulating me with her puppy eyes," Franky says as she grabs the drinks menu. "First round is on me. Just make sure it isn't one of those most expensive drinks. I got a job, but it doesn't pay that much. Second's round on Red since she refuses to speak."

Bea scoffs, but doesn't argue. The less she says, the easier it will be.

They order and cheer to a new beginning, and Franky speaks highly of her a new job in a lawyers' office. It's a small job, but Franky's confidence to climb the ladder to success is unbreakable. She's dressed up in pride and Bridget's eyes shine when she looks at the impressive woman Franky has become.

"Who would have thought we'd be here tonight," Boomer says. "It's a bloody miracle."

"We weren't so bad!" Maxine laughs.

"You weren't there to see that, but Franky refused to get out of her room for three entire days when she first got to Wentworth. She would sneak out during the night to take food and then go back in her room. The staff had a meeting to determine whether she'd be allowed to stay. Luckily, I dragged her out of the room eventually," Bridget continues.

"I didn't know what to expect! And Bridget worked the nights, it was just easier for me" Franky tries to explain. "You weren't better, Booms! You came here a few days after I got in and you were so mad at everyone that no one would talk to you at first. You scared half the house away."

"How about that time you had another woman in your room?" Boomer fires back. "You scared half the house away with those moans!"

"Piss off, Booms!"

"Oh, we did have a long discussion about that, didn't we?" Bridget smirks.

Franky leans back on her chair and looks at the ceiling as she scoffs quietly.

"We did, and you told me I wasn't allowed to have anyone in my room except the staff from now on. That backfired, didn't it?"

"It certainly didn't," Bridget chuckles. "The only time I've ever met you in your room was to tell you that you had crossed a line by asking me out in front of my co-workers."

"Sounds just like the Franky I met a few weeks ago," Bea laughs.

They all finish half of their drinks in a few minutes, and soon enough, Maxine calls the waiter to order food to help the alcohol pass through their system. The table soon fills with appealing meals and delicious smells, and the group digs in, sharing their plates and trying a bit of everything. From pasta, to perfectly cooked meat and seafood, to a variety of vegetables and soups, the choices leave no one indifferent.

Just like Bridget predicted, the food is excellent.

The atmosphere is different than when they eat at Wentworth. Here, no one is looking at them. No other women or children are running around them or staring at them or trying to listen to what they're saying. No undesirable presence makes them filter their words. And even if Bridget is there with the other three women, they all consider her a friend more than a psychologist.

"The place won't be the same without you," Boomer tells Franky while they dig in the different plates. "You'll come visit, right?"

"Of course," Franky replies, shooting a pleading glance towards Bridget. "I'd miss you all too much if I didn't."

"I thought you couldn't come back once you left?" Bea asks.

"You can," Bridget explains, "but only with a good reason, for example, if you have a meeting or if you're invited. Franky can't show up unannounced."

"It's a sad, terrible world," Franky mocks. "Hold on, I'll have meetings with my friends if I visit."

"Franky," Bridget warns.

"Yeah, I know," Franky sighs as she finishes her first beer. "But it seems wrong if I just stop coming here. I've been here two months. I can't just go and be by myself when I've lived with so many people for two months. I'll go crazy and start talking to myself like a mad person."

"Phones still exist," Bridget points out gently. "And as far as I know, no one who's ever left the shelter went mad."

But Franky doesn't quite listen to her anymore. She's thinking of all the ways she isn't done at Wentworth. She's thinking of all the ways this place helps her. She's thinking of all the ways she needs this place, no matter how many rules there are and how many strangers she's forced to share a roof with. Some of those strangers, she realizes, have turned out to be her closest friends now.

Her only family.

She isn't ready to let go.

"And I need to know if Boomer will get a job soon. She's sent so many applications and I know she can do it. Any place would be lucky to have her," Franky rambles. "And Maxine's treatment, I can't miss anything about it. It's too important. What if something happens and I'm not there? And Red's mysterious lover! I have to be there to know who it is and all the details, I'm practically her mentor! And you, Gidge, I can't just… I can't just go."

"I don't have a secret lover and you're not my mentor," Bea shakes her head slowly. "And Boomer will keep talking to you, she'll probably be the one calling you all the time. "

Boomer nods eagerly, as if it was the only obvious thing on Earth.

"And Maxine, she'll be okay. Her treatment is going well, and you know it. She's never been better," Bea adds.

"I'll miss you too, love," Maxine smiles at Franky. "I won't let you leave without getting your number. Bea's right, I feel better."

"I'll get your number too," Boomer chimes in.

"I'm popular… Gidget's got competition," Franky wiggles her brows.

She still has her signature smirk tattooed on her face, but it's faltering. She tries to sound like she knows where's she going, like she has everything planned, but no matter how much help she's gotten at Wentworth, the fear of failing still controls her. The demons of her past constantly remind her of the many ways she's failed before, of the many ways she's still vulnerable to the rest of the world.

She may have a place to live, but it's somewhere she's never been before, and she feels as if she is moving to the other side of the world.

She may have a job, but it's new and fragile, and there is no guarantee that she'll keep it for long.

She may be surrounded by the family she's found, but deep inside, she sees herself standing alone in adversity.

She may have an extraordinary talent to hide her insecurities, but she's still dreading the moment the shelter's door closes behind her tomorrow.

Everything she has could be gone tomorrow.

Reality strikes her like lightning.

She's scared like she's never been before.

"Are you afraid because you're leaving us? Or is it because you think we might leave you?" Bridget asks with a thoughtful voice.

For a moment, it seems like Franky will answer seriously. Many thoughts and emotions battle for a place in her heart and she's having a hard time trying to make sense of it all. She opens her mouth and closes it. She takes a sip of drink and bites her inner cheek. She does it again, as the silence grows deeper between her and Bridget.

She keeps doing it until her glass is empty, but her throat still feels dry.

"Is it Bea's round yet?" Franky asks with enthusiasm, discarding Bridget's loaded question.

"Well, I'll definitely see you again," Bridget chuckles. "You still have some progress to make."

"You ask too many questions," Franky shrugs.

"I don't think that's the problem here."

It's a statement, not a question, and Franky shrugs again, raising her hand to call the waiter as Bridget's words wraps around her heart and squeeze it.

"Second round's on Red, feel free to order whatever expensive shit you find," Franky jokes.

"You do realize I don't have a job yet?"

"It's a matter of time," Maxine says. "You can always practice on my hair in the meantime. I know I could use a treatment. Can you grow hair back? I'll be very impressed if you can."

"Cancer joke," Franky cheers. "I thought it'd be too early."

"It is!" Boomer complains. "Cancer's not funny. Why do you even say that?"

She's angry and slams her glass on the table, and refuses to look at Maxine.

Maxine had arrived at Wentworth only a week after Boomer and she had known exactly the right words to say to calm Boomer's anger. When the news of cancer had reached Boomer's ears, she'd thought Maxine would die right on the spot.

She hadn't stopped worrying ever since.

"I'm fine," Maxine insists.

"It's not funny," Boomer mumbles under her breath. "You can't leave me."

"And I won't, love. But I have to laugh about it. It's the only I can survive." Maxine smiles sadly.

Bea shivers as the words remind her of something Allie would say.

The blonde never leaves her mind, even when it's late and the drinks are long forgotten, and Boomer's laughing again at something Maxine says to Franky.

* * *

When the group returns to the shelter a bit after midnight, their minds filled with yet another beautiful memory to share, Bea walks behind the other women. Her stomach is full and she's buzzing from the drinks she's had, but she feels happier knowing that she's not alone anymore.

She smiles at the way Franky walks a bit too close to Bridget and the blonde doesn't seem to move away. She hasn't known Franky for long, but she knows Bridget isn't just another one of the brunette's quick conquest.

She turns her sight to focus on the two other women. Her heart still aches at the sight of Maxine's figure walking slowly next to Boomer. The last round of chemo had been particularly hard on her, but Maxine never let her smile go away. Bea knows too well that Maxine is looking out for Boomer before herself.

Bea's thoughts are interrupted abruptly when a shadow emerges from between two buildings and grabs her hand. She jolts away, heart pounding in her chest and adrenaline flying through her veins, ready to make a run for her life when she recognizes the other girl.

"Bea."

Allie's voice is too quiet to attract the rest of the group's attention, but Bea's eyes immediately notice on Allie's full-blown pupils. She's about to stop and talk to Allie, but she worries her friends might notice she's gone. Instead, she keeps walking, but at a slower pace, and Allie takes a few steps with her.

A small part of Bea is still scorched alive by the fact that Allie hadn't joined her tonight.

The disappointment still digs a hole in her heart, and she can't ignore it, especially when she sees Allie's wobbling steps.

The woman is so high she can't even walk properly, and Bea isn't sure how to react.

If this is how caring feels like, Bea doesn't want to care.

But she does care.

"Bea! Please, I'm sorry I didn't come," Allie pleads.

"I don't see why you are," Bea shakes her head quickly, a distant smile on her face. "we didn't confirm anything, it was an unformal invitation."

Allie feels panic overwhelming her when she notices Bea's emotionless smile. Whatever they share, it's damaged now, and Allie wants to fix this.

She _needs_ to fix this.

"I can talk to you later? At the usual time? I wouldn't want to interrupt… your work?" Bea hates how Allie's job and Allie's addiction bother her.

She wishes she could be as open-minded as she wants to be, but seeing Allie this way, lips swollen, and body trapped under the influence of drugs, hurts her. She still doesn't fully understand why Allie would do that to herself, and she doesn't think she ever will.

She can't understand why Allie doesn't seem to try harder, and at the same time, she thinks the blonde is trying too hard for her own good. She thinks Allie's trying so hard that she might break someday.

Sooner than later.

A feeling of hopelessness hits her like an earthquake. She wishes she could do something, anything, to help Allie escape a life in the streets, but nothing comes to her mind. Being here for Allie doesn't seem enough and asking for help to someone else sounds like going against Allie's will.

But seeing Allie like that is killing her.

Talking every night doesn't shelter Bea from being too affected by Allie's life. It only pulls her in more, until Allie is all she can think about, until Allie occupies her mind even when she sleeps.

"I don't have another client tonight," Allie smiles hesitantly, noticing the way Bea reacts. "I wasn't even supposed to have one."

"What are you doing here?" Bea sighs loudly, signaling her annoyance. "I think you made it clear that you had other priorities."

She's angry.

She becomes angrier when she realizes that she isn't even sure why Allie's absence affects her so much.

A part of her feels like she shouldn't have let her guard down.

Disappointment isn't new to Bea, but it still hurts, especially when she doesn't see it coming.

"I was hoping you'd come with me?"

Bea stops walking and turns to face Allie, her eyes boring into Allie's. She looks for a hint of the blonde's intention. She searches for a piece of a riddle she's never seen.

"Why?"

She seeks an answer, any answer, that might tell her that Allie can be trusted if Bea lets her in.

She finds a longing melancholy that tugs painfully at her chest.

"I want to show you my world," Allie admits.

Bea frowns at the sudden confession.

"Have I done something?"

"No!" Allie quickly reassures Bea. "It's just, my life, it's not a nice one. It's not a celebration at a restaurant when something good happen. It's quite the opposite."

It's addictive drugs.

It's emotionless sex.

It's fear when she thinks of the way Bea makes her feel.

It's joy when she thinks of the way Bea makes her feel.

It's chaos.

It's not being able to get her shit together even though there's nothing she wants more. It's not being able to smile when Bea isn't around. It's gambling with her life every day when she wakes up. It's playing Russian roulette with the food she finds in garbage cans. It's thinking she's going to have enough courage to change, but realizing she's fooling yourself once again.

It's looking at Bea through a restaurant's window and seeing her have the time of her life, and realizing Bea doesn't need her the way Allie does.

Because Bea is fine without her. She really is. She might even be better off without her.

"I wanted to go with you, I really did. And to meet everyone," Allie licks her lips. "I got there, and I couldn't walk in. I wasn't clean. I wasn't fully sober. I didn't want that to be the first impression of me."

Bea nods.

"I know I'm high. I know I'm not looking so great either. I know I'm showing up here with nothing and I'm asking for a lot, but would you follow me? It's late, but it's not far from here and it won't take long. You can even ask of your friends to come with you if you don't trust me."

There's something about the way Allie is asking that makes Bea wants to say yes.

Maybe it's the way her eyes are pleading desperately for a second chance even though she's never needed a second one to begin with.

Maybe it's the tone of her voice, strong and vulnerable, and brutally raw, reaching directly Bea's soul.

Maybe it's the words Allie pronounces, words that illustrate how aware she is of her flaws, but how unaware she is of her strengths.

"I'm not like _him._ " Allie finishes. "I know I messed up, but I'm not like him and I would never do anything that puts you in danger."

Bea looks up and ahead, vague memories of Harry's text message in her mind.

She sees Franky staring at them across the distance and knows that if she calls for help, Franky would sprint to her side in a heartbeat. Franky would chase Allie away if needed. She also knows that if she leaves with Allie, Franky wouldn't worry, but she'd be waiting in Bea's room until she came back safely.

Bea wonders if this is what friendship is like.

"Lead the way," she decides.

* * *

 **Next week is Christmas so I might not post a chapter because I'll be busy with life, but just know that chapter 5 is written and I only need to edit/proofread it, so I will definitely update within 2 weeks!**


	5. Wipe the mark of madness from my face

**Chapter's title comes from "Cactus in the valley" by Lights**

 **This is an angsty one, but better days are ahead...**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Wipe the mark of madness from my face**

The rain is gone by the time they lose sight of Franky and the rest of the group.

Bea walks with a determined look on her face.

She stares at Allie's back and lets herself be lead through countless narrow streets and curved sidewalks. She isn't sure what prompted her to accept Allie's offer, but she's starting to regret it as they move farther and farther from the shelter. Allie is so damn high, and Bea has no proof that she knows where they're going.

She's fucking tired, but it's too late to go back.

Her mouth is dry, and her skin is so sensible that the mere brush of the wind feels like a dozen razor blades sliding against her arms. Her eyes are hard on Allie, whose pace is increasing by the second. Bea almost thinks that Allie is trying to run away from her, and she'll be damned if she lets her.

She's being dragged to an unknown destination in the middle of the night, and Allie doesn't even glance at her, just keep trusting that Bea follows her to the end of the world.

Bea shakes her head, more than irritated at the situation.

The fact that she just had alcohol isn't helping with her patience. They could be walking only a few meters away from their departure point, and Bea would still feel like she's running a marathon through the city.

She notices a slight change around her when the nicely built houses transform to rough wooden buildings, some of them abandoned, some of them letting light out through their broken windows. Bea shivers when she smells the strong scent of marijuana lingering in the air, as well as other peculiar chemical scents.

She thinks she might be sick when she notices a lone man sitting on the ground, a needle sticking out of his arm. When she notices his eyes are closed, she really hopes he's just sleeping. She doesn't see anyone else outside as Allie leads her toward some louder streets, where cars are passing by dozens of feminine silhouettes waving encouragingly at them.

"What the fuck are we doing here?" Bea groans as Allie stops at a certain distance from the others.

She hears a few women whistle as two others get inside a shiny black car with tainted windows. It's painfully obvious that they just scored a wealthy client, and Bea thinks she might throw up.

"This is where I used to work before I got regulars," Allie whispers, lost in her thoughts. "Half of the girls I know are gone now. I don't know what happened to them. They left in a stranger's car and I never saw them again."

Bea stares wordlessly at the shadows illuminated by the dimmed lights of the cars' headlights.

It looks like a dream and a nightmare at the same time.

"Would you have spoken to me if I'd been there and you were just walking by?"

Bea wants to say that she would have never walked by this district, and Allie reads her mind and nods knowingly.

"Not surprising. This isn't the best place to make friends. I'm sure you understand that competition is harsh here. You have to really make your voice heard. But for the record, if I'd seen you while I was working here, I would have definitely approached you. Not that it should be a compliment, but it is."

Allie starts walking again, and Bea stumbles behind, throwing a last quick glance at the prostitutes. She can't imagine Allie being part of that crowd, or maybe she just tries really hard not to let the images appear in her mind.

Then again, Bea thinks, no one is protected from the cruelness of life.

They wander in nameless streets for a few more minutes before Allie stops and lowers her head, pulling the hood over her head. Allie looks exactly the way she did when Bea first saw her, and Bea is momentarily brought back to that night, nearly a month ago.

It seems like forever ago.

"It's Marie."

Bea looks up at Allie's subtle nod with her head.

She points at a tall older woman wearing what looks like the most expensive clothes out here, way out of range for the other people surrounding her. She stands like royalty, and Bea almost believes that she is.

"Marie Winter," Allie whispers. "She preys on vulnerable girls and gives them drugs. They always come back for more. I know it because I was one. She got me food once and I- I thought I'd owe her for my whole life. She gave me a place to stay, before I found Kaz."

Maybe it's the way Allie's voice tremble that pushes Bea to ask another question, but she isn't sure. She only knows that when Marie vaguely turns her head toward them, Allie speeds away.

"What happened with her?"

Allie waits until they're far enough to answer. Her eyes are lost in a time Bea can't travel to.

"I felt something when I was with her. I thought it was love, but I was wrong. She's incapable of loving someone."

She sings a broken heart's tale and Bea aches at the melancholic melody.

"She was in love with her lifestyle," Allie adds. "With the drugs and the highs, and the many girls she could have. She tells everyone that they're special until the word loses its meaning."

Bea thinks that no one could ever compare to Allie.

No one could ever make her feel the way Allie does.

Soon enough, they find themselves facing the same restaurant that Bea spent the evening in, and Bea has no idea how they came back to this point. She's sure she would have recognized the streets, but Allie smiles like she knows a secret passage and Bea doesn't point it out.

"This is where I watched you with your friends," Allie says. Her smile disappears. "It's also where one of my regulars found me tonight. I told you I didn't have a client scheduled, and it's the truth. He just found me and decided he wanted some."

The restaurant is closed, and Bea easily spots the table she was at a few hours ago. She wouldn't have been able to see Allie, but Allie had a great view of the table.

"You stalked me," Bea teases.

"I did," Allie smirks. "But only for a moment, I swear. I'm harmless."

"Are you really?" Bea narrows her eyes.

Bea doesn't believe for a second that Allie is harmless.

Allie is a plane awaiting to crash on Bea's calm composure.

Allie is a nuclear bomb ready to wipe Bea's world as she knows it.

Allie is the catalyst Bea has been waiting for her whole life.

"I was about to come in when he found me," Allie continues. "I didn't have much choice but to follow him. Bastard's not my regular anymore, that's for sure."

It doesn't take long for Bea to understand what Allie means.

"He forced you?" Bea frowns.

Allie hums absently and points to the chair Bea sat on earlier.

"You looked beautiful. The other women didn't compare. If you look closely on the ground, maybe you'll find the pool of drool I accidently created."

Bea doesn't accept the poor attempt at a distraction.

"Allie."

Her voice is strong, and the way she says Allie's name hits the blonde's nerves like a bullet would.

"Come on," Allie waves gently.

She walks away, and Bea doesn't have a choice but to follow, again.

They don't go far this time. They walk by the shelter and Allie looks up to the door separating her from a real bed and a hot cup of tea. She doesn't waste any time and moves faster. They cross a few streets until Allie stops again. They're standing in-between two tall buildings.

They find themselves neatly squished in an alley where a cardboard sheet lies on the ground. It's small, just long enough for someone to lie on it, should they be desperate for a nap. It's bent, as if someone had recently slept on it, and there's a small blanket rolled in a corner.

The alley itself is small and dirty. There's no balcony above that could have protected it from the rain, but the brick walls on each side stretch high toward the sky, offering somewhat of a shelter against the elements.

Bea feels paralyzed.

It's one thing to know that Allie lives in a place like this, it's another thing to see it, to confirm that it's real.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Allie gestures dramatically like she's the main character of a television show. "It's not much, but it's where I live."

Allie sits on the cardboard sheet and motions for Bea to do the same.

Bea stares at her like a deer in headlights before she kneels slowly and sits next to Allie. The place is barely large enough for the two of them, and their shoulders connect instantly.

For a moment, they forget how to speak.

Bea wants to get up and brings Allie to Wentworth, and never allows her to stay here again. It's intimidating, the way the walls are preventing her from seeing her surroundings, and the way the cardboard barely blocks the hardness of the ground. She can't imagine spending one night here without wanting to hit her head repeatedly on the wall. She wouldn't even fall asleep.

Allie lets Bea looks around, not that there's anything to see. She lets Bea takes in the sight of the place she calls her five stars alley. She lets her come to term with the truth, slowly. She doesn't dare break the silence until she's certain that Bea's nervousness has tamed enough for her to be able to listen.

"This is where I came back after he raped me," Allie whispers. Her years in the streets have taught her never to hide the real words and their powerful meaning. "I sat here, I cut some lines and I just… took them all. It's been a few hours already, so I can feel the effect going away."

She remembers everything so clearly, despite the heavy dose she had. Her tolerance is through the roof. She needs much more than a normal dose to feel the effects of the drugs. It's always more money to spend, and it's always more time she needs to spend working and earning said money.

It drains her life continuously.

She remembers the way he had patted her shoulder gently, asking her politely if she could offer him some good time. She remembers saying no, apologizing even though she didn't have to, and telling him to come back another night.

She remembers the flash of anger in his eyes before he'd aggressively grabbed her arm and pointed to the table Bea was sitting at.

He'd told her he'd noticed her staring this specific group, and that he would go in there and disturb the evening unless she came with him. She'd walked into his car less a minute later, gritted teeth and clenched jaw, thinking that she could do it, for Bea.

She remembers the smell of tobacco and the speed at which the car raced through the streets in direction of the cheapest motel.

She remembers the way she had tried to ask for help at the hotel, but the owner obviously knew her client. He had done nothing, only handling them the key to the room without a drop of emotion on his face.

She remembers thinking that she could do it, after all, it was just another shift on the job. It was just another ordinary night, one that she'd lived a thousand times.

Except that tonight, she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

She remembers being pinned down by her client's sweaty body.

She remembers everything afterwards, but she wishes she could forget.

Forget everything.

Forget the sex, the drugs, the misery she seems to be trapped in.

Forget everything and everyone, but Bea.

"It's not the first time it happens. It's a common situation when you work in the streets," Allie murmurs, "but it never gets easier. What can I do about that? No one would ever take me seriously, and it's not like these assholes ever give their real names."

"How are you now?" Bea rages inside, thinking that if she had a gun, she'd go and shot this fucker in the head.

She'd go to jail, but he wouldn't hurt anyone else.

"Better. I've got a beautiful woman next to me and I'm high as a kite. Living the life!"

She keeps the tone light, but Bea refuses to encourage her. She directs the conversation on the real questions that occupy her mind.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Why not? I figured you'd have to come visit sooner than later. It's not as bad as it seems. It gets quite comfy once you get the blanket on."

"That can't be it."

She gets that Allie is probably using humor as a defense mechanism, but still, she wants answers.

"Okay, fine, a pillow would be helpful too. I'll add it to my shopping list next time I visit Ikea. You'll come with me, right? We can pretend to be that couple that fights about every little thing."

"We're not a couple," Bea sighs.

"We could be," Allie winks. "Just say the word."

"I'm serious, Allie. You could have waited until this morning, couldn't you?" Bea insists, knowing that she's that close to break through Allie's defenses. She'll insist until they break. "You could have told me all that in the park. You could have brought me here then, instead of barging like you did."

And when they break, Bea isn't ready for what's hiding behind.

For Allie's eyes to turn dark and empty, like life is nothing but a terrible, awful joke.

"No, I couldn't."

Empty, hopeless, lifeless.

"As soon as it was over, I came around and I waited until you were on your way back," Allie confesses. "I couldn't wait to see you because if I waited…"

She interrupts herself, unsure.

"What?"

"I'd be alone," Allie's voice shatters. "I'd be alone, and he knows where I am. He knows if he wants, he can come back and find me. I couldn't just afford to wait until sunrise this time. I didn't want to. No amount of drugs could change that."

"Why did you take them?" Bea pleads. "Why didn't you come straight to me? Come back to the restaurant and drag me out, or yell at me, or even show up at Wentworth, anything! Why did you go and take the drugs, when you knew exactly where I was and what I was doing?"

Allie looks at her with those big blue eyes and Bea says the next words before she can take them back.

"You said you couldn't wait? Bullshit! You waited just long enough to get high."

She's so incredibly mad that she can't think properly. She's craving justice when it is nowhere to be found and she's feeding on Allie's despair when she shouldn't, when she should stay the fuck away from it. She's shaken by the turn of events. It isn't how she imagined the rest of the evening would go.

She looks around, staring at the shitty conditions that Allie's lived in for years. She isn't sure where to direct her anger, and Allie is here, in front of her, and it just seems too easy to raise her voice at an innocent person than to go out and seek the guilty one.

She hates that she could have done something, anything, to prevent this from happening. She could have asked Allie to join them at the shelter. She could have insisted that Allie join them as soon as possible. She could have looked outside the stupid window.

She could have been there, and she hadn't.

She hates that she blames herself when there's only one person responsible.

She lowers her head and exhales loudly.

"He can come back?" she asks.

"He won't. I don't think so."

"Fuck," Bea swears, shaking her head. "What the fuck do we do if he does?"

"Look, I don't expect you to do anything," Allie exhales loudly. "I didn't want to be alone, that's the truth. If he comes back, you run and you don't look back. I can protect myself."

Bea looks at the blonde like she's gone mad.

"You don't look back," Allie repeats with a hard tone, sealing the words into Bea's heart. "You're the only person I know who wouldn't judge me. You can leave, I won't stop you."

Please don't fucking leave, Bea reads between the lines.

And she wants to stay.

She would stay for the rest of her life if that's what Allie needs from her.

"I'm sorry," Bea says as she licks her lips. "I didn't mean to snap."

"I'm sorry I threw all of this on you," Allie scoffs. "I'm not good at keeping friends, you can guess why."

"Don't say that," Bea smiles gently, sliding her fingers through Allie's. "I'm here, am I not? I'm not going anywhere. I'll protect you, no matter what."

Allie squeezes Bea's hand in return.

Time passes and the existing tension fades, but their hands never leave each other.

"You can't stay here forever," Bea breaks the silence.

Allie nods. She knows that too well, but even if she wants to move, she needs to get clean first. And if she wants to get clean, she needs to stop going to her dealer whenever a problem shows up. She needs to survive the withdrawal and the cravings. She needs to be stronger than her survival instinct, which is so messed up now that it only asks for more gear everyday.

"How is it? Living here?"

"It's not so bad," Allie speaks. "It's not cold at night. I can't imagine how it would be if I lived in Canada or something. And it doesn't rain often. And the blanket is a great pillow when I need one. I don't get woken up by people and I'm pretty free to do what I want during the day."

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Not more than if I slept in a park or somewhere else."

She makes a point, but it still sounds horrifying to Bea.

"You're trapped in an open place," Bea says.

Allie looks at her with a puzzled look.

"Harry used to lock the door and keep the keys," Bea says, allowing herself to share a piece of her past with Allie. "I wasn't allowed to be outside unless he said so. I wanted so badly to leave, to run outside, but I couldn't. One time, he wouldn't even let me use the bathroom for a full day. He beat me when I peed in an empty cup."

"Shit."

Bea hesitates to say the next words.

"When I arrived at Wentworth, I'd just spent a full month inside the house. He'd given me the keys back about two days before I decided to leave. It's why I decided to go, partly. I was just exhausted. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Fuck," Allie shakes her head in disgust.

She doesn't know why every time Bea opens up and tells her something, she's surprised at the gravity of Harry's actions. She shouldn't be surprised. Domestic violence has no limits.

"And you, you could run, you could seek help, but you don't. You lock yourself in, in this alley that has no door to keep you prisoner."

Allie shrugs.

"It isn't easy to change things."

Bea nods. She knows that too well.

"I've been around for a while," Allie adds, trying to change the mood. "People recognize me. They know it's better to leave me alone, with my connections to the Red Right Hand and all. You know, there used to be a rumour about me and Kaz? Said that we murdered rapists. It's not true, but it's kept me protected for a while. It still does, most of the time."

Bea laughs at the idea. She still has trouble imagining Allie being in a fight, so thinking of her as a murderer sounds ridiculous. She thinks that if Allie were to ever kill someone, it'd have to be for a bloody good reason.

"Hey, don't laugh, I'm pretty intimidating when I want to," Allie says.

"Yeah, right." Bea grins. "I bet you're the scariest in the streets."

"Exactly!"

"How so?"

"I can rap. I even got a name now, thanks to you, DJ Allie Cat."

Bea laughs harder and looks at Allie like she just grew a second head. Allie pretends to be hurt, but the amusement in her eyes betrays her. Just like that, she feels the night slowly disappear.

"Don't think you'll intimidate anyone with that name," Bea suffocates at the hilarious name.

"You practically gave it to me."

"As a joke!"

"Don't judge till you hear me!"

Allie stands up and waits for Bea to do the same. When Bea stays where she is and looks up innocently, Allie groans and takes Bea's arms, effectively lifting her up. They briefly collide, but Bea's quick to take a step back. She leans against the wall and only a few centimeters separate the two women.

"You're stronger than you appear to be," Bea smirks.

"I'm a badass, Smith, you're just about to find out how much exactly."

Maybe it's the drugs or the fact that she wants Bea to only look at her, but Allie feels overly confident in her skills.

Bea raises her hands in submission and waits for Allie, whose face becomes serious.

Bea thinks for a second that Allie will start reciting poetry about the greatest problems of today's modern world, but instead, she gasps when the blonde starts to actually rap and rhyme.

"Motherfuckin' hoe, go with the flow, bitches be mean, 'cause I'm wearing green!" Allie dances, waving her arms around. She winks as she repeats Bea's words from their first meeting.

Granted, it isn't the best rap, but Bea is laughing until she's holding her stomach and she can't breathe anymore, and Allie shines at the sight.

"Are you fucking serious?" Bea croaks in-between two gulps of air. "You're never going to let me forget that, aren't you?"

"Never," Allie grins. "I'll be ninety years old and I'll still be reminding you about that moment you became colorblind."

"Think I'll still be around when you're ninety? Someone's confident."

"You better!" Allie lightly bumps Bea's shoulder. "Don't you dare leave me before I reach ninety. I swear I'll still be just as beautiful and charming when I'm all gray and wrinkled. And I'll bring you all the mushy food I can find."

The thought of Allie bringing her food when they're both old and full of wisdom makes Bea's smile brighter than the sun.

"I have no doubt about it," Bea rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, we'll just play bingo all day… and have lots of hot steamy sex," Allie adds.

"You wish!" Bea mocks, now mostly immune to Allie's bold advances.

"You bet I do! What? This isn't going anywhere," Allie wiggles her eyebrows and points suggestively at her body. "And this isn't either," she points at Bea's.

They bicker like the married couple they could be in another life for a few minutes, before they lean on opposite sides of the alley, stars in their eyes and joy in their chest.

The heaviness of the night is being chased away by their carefree laughs and the easiness of their conversations. Bea momentarily forgets where they are, where they stand and what brought her here.

Bea forgets that she's living at a shelter and that she's a survivor of domestic violence. She forgets that it's the middle of the night and that she could fall asleep within seconds of closing her eyes. She forgets that she's made new friends and that Franky is leaving tomorrow morning, and that she worries Maxine and Boomer might not stay for long after that. She forgets that she's confused about her feelings for Allie.

Right now, she considers Allie to be everything.

Absolutely everything.

A crazy idea flashes in her mind.

"Why don't you come with me? For the night. I'm sure I can convince Vera to let you stay if you're worried for your safety out here," Bea suggests. "I've got plenty of space to share."

Truth is, there's a small chance Vera would ever bend the rules for her, but Bea refuses to leave Allie alone after what happened earlier. She must try. She owes it to Allie. If something else happens to Allie, Bea will never forgive herself.

"You want me to spend the night over?" Allie bites her lower lip.

"I'm serious."

"Fine. But I don't think it works that way," Allie snickers, as her heart jumps in her chest. "I met Vera, I know what she's like. She knows what I'm like."

"I can try," Bea insists. "It beats staying here, right?"

Allie laughs. Of course, anything beats staying here. Being with Bea is a giant bonus she doesn't dare believe might happen.

But she won't give herself the luxury to feel hopeful when she's certain Vera won't even open the door to her.

"I'm high," she points out. "Kids are there."

Bea thinks for less than a minute before another thought crosses her mind. It's crazy, so unbelievably crazy that she fears Allie will never take her seriously, but it's also their only hope. It's their golden ticket to the end of the rainbow. It's the opportunity of a lifetime. It's the lightbulb moment Bea has been waiting for until now.

"Then it's your chance to get clean," Bea states, silently asking Allie to trust her, to come with her and to finally, finally get another shot at this merciless game they call life.

Allie doesn't hesitate.

"Lead the way," she mirrors Bea's words, once again.

* * *

Vera is not one to bend the rules.

Ever since she's started working here, she's seen women try to kill themselves, try to burn the shelter down and neglect their children until child protection services had to be called.

She's witnessed men try to break in, ex-husbands try to vandalize the house and strangers lurk around, trying to get a glimpse of the life inside the shelter.

She's seen babies cry for hours until they fell asleep from exhaustion, and children throw the loudest tantrums in every room of the house.

She's seen broken families rebuild themselves slowly, whereas others headed back to war as children turned against their mother.

She's seen it all, and she knows there is a reason why specific rules exist. If they didn't, harmony would not be possible at Wentworth. It would be a giant playground, with women trying to heal themselves while stepping on metaphorical bombs every two seconds. It would be a breeding program for future victims and future batterers.

People who think that working at a shelter for women is easy are so far off the truth that it baffles Vera that such individuals exist.

So when Bea Smith arrives in the middle of the night with a woman Vera recognizes as Allie Novak, she hesitates a long time before she opens the door. When she does, she immediately convokes both women in the office and listens to their extravagant stories.

She sits formally in front of them, a severe look in her face, as the concepts of right and wrong twirl in her head.

She tries hard to discern what the right thing to do is, fighting to identify where the rules start and where they end.

If she follows the rules, she'll kick Allie out right this minute, and then she'll have a quick meeting with Bea regarding this unforgivable offense, which is bringing a person under the influence of drugs to the shelter.

If she follows her instinct, her motherly instinct that tells her that she can make an exception for a woman who is clearly in need of help, then she risks facing a catastrophe as soon as Allie fully engages in the withdrawal process.

But then again, it sounds inhumane to ask Allie to go back outside, where she'll obviously have to face it all alone and might just keep pumping more of those illicit substances in her blood.

"Are you sure that there's nowhere else you can go?" Vera asks Allie for the third time.

Allie shakes her head negatively.

"And you say you fear for your life?"

Allie nods.

Vera sighs, slightly annoyed with this dilemma she has to solve.

"Allie Novak," Vera replies, standing up to reach a file from a drawer. "I remember you. We had to close your file much faster than we'd expect."

She quickly scans the file with her eyes, reading as much as she can in a few seconds.

"You came here for a couple of days. The phone assessment went great. We had great goals to work on. And then, we found you with a needle in your arm, in a common area. You were told that you couldn't ever come back here unless you were fully off the gear for at least three months. Do you remember that?"

Allie nods again, slightly embarrassed as Bea hears it all.

"And yet, here you are, and you're clearly still using," Vera points out. "I don't feel comfortable letting you in, knowing we have young children sleeping right now. I have no guarantee you can control yourself."

"I understand," Allie answers. "I won't leave Bea's room. I'll just go to the bathroom and that's all. I'll be gone tomorrow, I swear. I just don't want to stay outside tonight."

Vera's heard it all, and Allie's words are nothing new. In fact, it doesn't make her want to change her mind at all, because everyone has this sort of speech when they want to come in here.

"When do you think you'll start feeling the withdrawal effects?"

"Two hours? Three top. It doesn't take a long time for me to crave more, and my last hit was a few hours ago," Allie answers honestly. "But I've survived it before and I can do it again."

"I still don't have any guarantee that you won't go around, disturbing the house in your quest for more drugs," Vera answers.

She turns her gaze towards Bea.

She struggles to find the right solution. On one hand, she has to think of the safety of the women, and on the other hand, she might send one to her death if she kicks Allie out. And clearly, she can't call the police unless she wants to send Allie right into prison.

She feels trapped in a situation where all the options are just ridiculously ineffective. She's already crossed a line by opening the door in the first place.

She's not a big fan of this night so far.

"Bea, why?" Vera asks simply.

"Allie's my friend," Bea declares solemnly. "I'm not letting her out of my sight when she thinks someone's after her. If you want her to leave, I'll go with her too."

"I can't risk you leaving with her either," Vera says knowingly. "You know the rules, Bea, no sleepovers somewhere else. Unless you wish to leave the shelter tonight."

"And I'm asking you to ignore the rules for tonight. To make an exception, please," Bea pleads. "I haven't caused any trouble ever since I got here. I'm not about to start, not when I'm finally getting my life back."

Vera stares at her, still unsure. It's true that Bea hasn't caused any trouble, but Vera isn't about to hand her that opportunity on a silver plater.

"We all want the same thing here," Bea says. "For Allie to be clean and safe. We're not the enemy here, and you're not either."

It seems to convince Vera, and she gets up and walks to her desk, pulling out a small piece of paper from her notebook. She scribbles a few words, adds the date and comes back to the table.

"Allie must remain in Bea's room at all times, unless she goes to the bathroom, and if she does, Bea will accompany her until tomorrow morning. Allie must remain as quiet as she can, judging the circumstances, and she must leave tomorrow, right after breakfast. If I receive any complaint from any of the women during the night, she'll have to leave immediately. Am I clear?" Vera reads the written contract to the two women. "You sign this, both of you, and if there's any sign of trouble, Bea, we'll put an end to your stay and you'll be relocated somewhere else. Understood?"

"Thank you, Miss Benett," Bea exhales, relieved, as she signs her name quickly and passes the piece of paper to Allie.

"Got it," Allie grins widely as she exchanges a glance with Bea.

"Now off you go. Oh, and Allie," Vera stops her gently, "it's good to see you smile."

* * *

Franky is waiting at her bedroom door and Bea motions for Allie to wait aside until she speaks with the tattooed brunette.

She stands in front of Franky, unsure what to say or what to do. During the past weeks, Franky has been a lighthouse whenever Bea struggled to survive a storm. She's convinced Franky has been waiting at her door ever since she disappeared with Allie. It touches her, but it unsettles her too. She doesn't know how to react when someone _cares_.

"Everything alright, Red?" Franky asks, looking behind at Allie's figure.

Franky has her arms crossed protectively against her chest. She leans nonchalantly against the wall, but her eyes tell Bea that she's ready to attack at her signal.

"Shouldn't you be packing?"

"Got plenty of time," Franky chuckles. "What's happening?"

Bea sighs. She should have known she'd get questions.

"It's fine. You can go to your room, I'll take care of it."

"You just came back here with a stranger and you expect me to let it go?" Franky asks incredulously. "No way. Vera wouldn't let anyone in at this time, who's she?"

Franky frowns. She gazes at Allie, calculating whether the blonde is a friend or an enemy.

"Who's she?" she insists, taking a step closer to Allie.

"None of your business," Bea snaps, catching back Franky's attention. "Now go, wouldn't want to wake up everyone, would you?"

Franky opens her mouth in disbelief, a mocking look in her eyes.

"Someone's protective! Don't tell me, she's your secret lover?" She whispers in secrecy as her eyes twinkle even brighter. "You know the rules, no sex in here… Unless you're planning to become like me. Although, I would be flattered."

Allie scoffs. She might be standing a few meters away, she still hears Franky perfectly.

Bea groans and shakes her head, mildly shy, but mostly annoyed.

"I got this, Franky," Bea stares dead in Franky's eyes.

"I bet you do," Franky chirps.

"I appreciate you making sure I'm fine," Bea adds softly.

Franky nods silently, shrugging the seriousness of the words away.

"You know where my room is if you need anything," she replies, stepping away. "Oh, and Maxie's awake too. Scream and we'll come running. I mean it."

She glances behind her a few times, making sure she isn't leaving Bea to her death, and eventually enters her room, locking it behind her.

Bea waits until Franky disappears to open her door. Allie follows her quietly.

The room is dark, but the moonlight offers them enough light to see. Bea doesn't bother switching the lights on. She knows it would only make them squint their eyes. She tries to think of anything to say, but nothing seems to fit. She looks around, hoping there's nothing compromising, but then she realizes that it's not like she has much, and it's not like Allie doesn't already know her deepest secrets.

She sits on the bed and waits for Allie to join her. She doesn't know what to do anymore. She stares hesitantly at Allie as the blonde looks around the modest room. There isn't much that tells her this is Bea's room, except for the pictures.

Allie lets her gaze lingers on the pictures on the wall. It's the first time she sees what Debbie looks like, and she smiles at the similarities between her and Bea. She has no trouble picturing young Debbie running around, making a snails' hotel with the first cardboard box she finds.

She joins Bea and feels the mattress bounce as she sits more comfortably on the bed. She nearly moans at how perfect it all feels. She knows it isn't the best quality mattress on the market, but right now, it feels like she's sitting on a cloud. She can already imagine how perfect it will feel to fall asleep under the covers, snuggling up to Bea without having to worry about a thing.

She almost forgets what awaits her.

Almost.

Until Bea reminds her.

"You got one chance to this, Allie," Bea says gravely.

Allie knows she won't have time to enjoy the comfort of the mattress or her newfound proximity to Bea.

She'll be too busy puking her life out and cleansing her body from all the shit she's fed it.

She'll be too busy craving her precious paradisiac stash of white powder to think about anything else.

"It's not gonna be pretty," Allie warns.

It's going to be the ugliest shit you'll ever see, remains unspoken.

It's going to be freaking anarchy in your bedroom.

"I know."

Allie pleads Bea to really think this through. Whatever Bea thinks it'll be like, Allie knows it'll be ten times worse. And if she can spare Bea the torture of seeing her going mad, she'll gladly walk out in a second.

Bea stays immobile, her eyes conveying all the respect she has for Allie.

"I know," Bea repeats, asking Allie to trust her.

Allie does.

The next hour is the calm before the storm.

Allie tells Bea many anecdotes from her life. She laughs until her ribs hurt and she has to gasp for air. She tells Bea about her best childhood memories and her proudest moments. She tells Bea about the day she realized she was gay, and about her very first date with a girl she'd met at school. She tells Bea about the first time she was told _I love you_ and the very first time she believed it. She tells her about the first time she said _I love you_ and the first time she meant it.

She gives Bea all that she has, all the joyful moments of her life, all the times she was so incredibly grateful to be alive, because she needs Bea to hang on to them, to remind her of them when she can't remember them anymore. She needs Bea to keep them safe when she faces the worst.

If she doesn't survive this, she wants Bea to remember her as someone who had survived everything, as someone who is gloriously proud of who she is, and as someone who won't leave without a fight.

If she doesn't survive this, she wants Bea to remember her, because no one else will, and it terrifies Allie.

To be forgotten, just like that, within seconds. To fall into oblivion.

She doesn't want that. She'll fight until she has no energy left, and then she'll still crawl back to her happy place and fight some more. She won't go down unless it's the last option she has. She won't go until Bea believes that she has given absolutely everything she has, because she would rather be tortured forever than disappoint Bea.

Bea looks at her like she will never forget her.

Allie feels herself falling in love slowly. She wants to tell Bea, because what if she never has the opportunity again? What if she never gets the chance to tell her that Bea is the best thing that's ever happened to her?

When she finally thinks she's ready to tell Bea how much she cares about her, she can't open her mouth without feeling like she might throw up.

She doesn't tell her, not yet.

When the withdrawal comes, Allie is torn apart by its violence.

"I'm scared," she whispers when her mind isn't all that gone yet.

She's terrified.

What if Bea leaves?

What if Bea can't handle her at her worse?

"It's okay."

Bea stares at her like she cares for her more than ever, like she's going to fight for Allie when Allie can't anymore.

Allie smiles like she believes it.

She gets up quickly and starts pacing around the room, feeling the walls coming at her, wanting to squish her like the small insect she thinks she is. She screams when she thinks she sees the roof falling over her head and Bea rushes to her side, trying to calm her with soothing words Allie can't recognize as panic overcomes her.

She pulls at her hair, trying desperately to mute the voices in her head, but only ends up yelling more. She kicks the walls and punches the mattress, and throws everything she can find on the ground. She snatches a picture of Debbie from the wall and tears it in tiny pieces. She hears Bea calling her name, but she's too far gone to care. She wants to get out of this damn room so badly that she launches herself at the door.

She wants the fucking drugs and she wants them now.

At this point, if she had been outside, she would have gotten the drugs. She would have taken them. She would have found solace in her unperfect paradise and not given a fuck about the rest of the world.

She would have forgotten about Bea and this supposedly only chance at getting better.

But she's not outside, and Bea cannot be forgotten.

She tries to reach for the door, but Bea stops her, and Allie's rage explodes like a volcano that has been waiting to erupt for too long. She pushes Bea away and slams her hands against the door, her eyes filled with a depth of anger and despair that she's never known before. Bea comes from behind and strong arms hold her as she cries silently.

She accidently kicks Bea in the stomach when she's at the high of her withdrawal and she can't control anything anymore.

Bea winces in pain, and Allie hates herself even more.

She tears her shirt open when she feels so hot that she might pass out from the invisible heat. She scratches her skin until she bleeds, and she doesn't stop until Bea's gentle arms embrace her again and prevent her from destroying herself.

She thinks that she could die in Bea's arms, and despite how sick she is, she feels that it would be the best way to leave this world.

No matter how furious she is, no matter how intense the cravings are, she never insults Bea. The thought doesn't even cross her mind. She spits profanities at everything, but she spares Bea, because even in madness, she cares about Bea deeply.

She finally gets out of the room and she races to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, not giving a fuck about whether Vera or anyone else hears her. She is followed by Bea, who tiptoes by her side and holds her hair as her body rejects itself and pours bile down the toilet. She feels better when her stomach's empty, but the nausea prevents her from standing up, and Bea delicately carries her back to the room.

She curls in a ball on the floor, and she places her head in her hands, tears still escaping her red and swollen eyes. She cries for what feels like an hour as Bea gently rocks her back and forth. She thinks that even Kaz would have left by now, and she sobs harder when she realizes Bea isn't going anywhere.

She doesn't even know why she's crying anymore. She just wants the room to stop spinning, the floor to stop shaking and the world to stop passing her by while she just stands, immobile and choking on her demons.

She is war.

She is peace.

She is beauty, and chaos, and redemption all at once.

She's exhausted and her body is aching painfully whenever she takes a deep breath. She barely has the strength to move and she doesn't resist when Bea drags her to bed and covers her with a soft blanket. She feels her soul momentarily leaves her body as she zones in and out of consciousness. Every time she opens her eyes, she sees Bea staring back at her with worried eyes, and it makes her heart skips a beat.

Bea looks at her like she's still beautiful, and Allie thinks she might be dreaming already.

She's about to fall asleep when she feels the bed shifting. She opens her eyes and sees Bea lying next to her. She feels a trillion needles poking at her brain. The pain is unbearable, and she moans as it gets worse. Her mouth tastes disgusting, and she's convinced she stinks like death, but when she opens her mouth to whisper, Bea still comes closer to hear every word she says.

"Why do you do this?" Allie pants as exhaustion takes her over.

Bea smiles gently, sliding under the covers to embrace Allie from behind. She could pass out from exhaustion, but she's fighting sleep in case Allie needs anything. It's been a long night, but she doesn't regret a single second of it. She'd do it all again in a heartbeat. She waits a minute before she feels Allie's breath grow deeper and even.

"I care about you," Bea murmurs quietly.

Allie doesn't respond, and Bea isn't sure if she even heard her.

* * *

When Allie wakes up the next morning, she opens her eyes to see Bea peacefully sleeping next to her. She clears her throat and tries to speak, but no sound comes from her sensitive throat and she ends up staring at Bea for a long time.

Her mind is running with everything she should tell Bea, every way she needs to apologize for trashing her room and pushing her away last night. She doesn't know how much time passes, but by the time she finally lets herself relax again, the sun is peeking brightly through the window.

She feels terrible, and the headache still haunts her, but she knows she's sober, at last. Whatever dose she had last night is gone, probably flushed away in the toilet. The hardest part is over. Now, she only needs to resist the urge to get high again. She can do it, she repeats in her head like a mantra.

She curses at herself when she notices the torn picture on the floor. She freaks out quietly, convinced Bea would never forgive her. What she feels like the last functioning brain cell she has tells her that Bea is lying next to her and isn't away, plotting her demise.

She needs to pee, and she tries to resist leaving the warmth of the bed, but she can't wait. She slips out of the bed, but she is stopped when Bea adorably pats the empty space beside her.

"Go back to sleep, beautiful girl," Bea mutters, her eyes still closed.

Allie grins so wide that she wonders if she's in heaven.

"I'm beautiful, eh?"

Bea hums absently as she drifts off again, and Allie chuckles quietly, exiting the bedroom. She can't wait to repeat those words to Bea when they're both awake. The hallway is empty as she makes her way to the bathroom and she sighs in relief.

On her way back, it's the opposite. She meets many people she doesn't know, and she recognizes the woman who was at Bea's door last night. She wants to run back to Bea's bedroom, but she's stopped just as she is about to enter the room.

"Oi, Blondie," Franky calls. "Wait up!"

Franky jogs to her. She has a suitcase in her hand and Boomer is following her.

"It sounded like the freaking exorcist in Bea's room last night. I'm surprised you're still here," Boomer says, an accusing look in her eyes. "Couldn't sleep all night."

"Yeah, Booms is right. It didn't sound like anything sexy was going on there. How you feeling?" Franky asks.

Allie doesn't say anything, not wanting to make conversation when a place next to Bea awaits her in bed.

Franky places her arm in front of Allie, blocking her access from Bea's room.

"I asked you a question."

"And I don't want to answer it," Allie shrugs, not the least bothered by Franky's attempt to intimidate her.

Franky smirks and exchanges a look with Boomer, who only looks confused.

"Feisty, aren't we? I'm Bea's friend. I'm just making sure she's still alive in there."

"She is," Allie deadpans.

"Are you sure you didn't kill her last night?" Boomer growls.

Allie sighs, unimpressed.

"You understand I'm just looking out for Red, right?"

"Franky, come on!" Bridget calls from the other end of the hallway. "You've got ten minutes to sign the papers and then you're out of here for good."

Franky keeps her eyes locked on Allie's. She thinks of her next move. She could insist and open the door to check if Bea's still breathing, or she could let go and join Bridget, and hope that Boomer takes over the job of the overly protective friend when she's gone.

"You hurt her, you got me to deal with," Franky warns.

Allie laughs, fearless.

"Righto," she shrugs.

Franky is two seconds away from shooting back an answer when Bridget calls her again.

"Coming, Gidget," Franky singsongs as she smiles innocently and skips away.

She leaves, and Boomer follows her, not without sending a threatening look at Allie before.

Allie shakes her head, her brain pounding in her skull, and she walks back in Bea's room.

She isn't sure whether to feel relieved that Bea has such caring friends, or afraid, but she figures nothing can scare her now that she's gone through the most painful withdrawal of her life. She picks up the pieces of the photo and places them neatly on the desk. She silently swears to fix it as soon as she's out of here. There's no way she'll leave it this way.

She takes back her place under the covers and faces Bea. The other woman is still sleeping calmly, and Allie feels her heart melt at the sight.

"I'm alive," she whispers with incredulity in her voice.

She's alive and Bea is still here.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	6. I'm weak from everything that I'm told

**Happy New Year to all of you!**

 **Chapter's title comes from "To the sea" by Seafret. Perfect song for this chapter if you ask me.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6 : I'm weak from everything that I'm told**

" _You'll have to answer me eventually," Bea points out, staring as Debbie keeps her nose buried in a book._

 _Bea sighs and looks through the giant window that creates the wall of the airport. Outside, the sun is high in the sky and dozens of planes are getting ready for take off. If she looks carefully, she can see a variety of suitcases being thrown carelessly inside the plane her daughter is about to board. It's huge. It's a huge machine for a long flight to the United States, where Debbie is going to spend the next few months studying._

 _Eight months, Bea thinks, with vacations in-between for Debbie to visit._

 _It should be enough for her to take care of this mess of a situation with Harry. It should be enough for her to gather the strength to leave him and ask for a divorce. It should be enough to move out and find a new place to live. It should be enough to heal and move on._

 _She really hopes that it's enough because she has no clue what she will do if it isn't._

 _She prays that she's right and that she's not sending her daughter away for nothing._

 _She tries not to think about the idea that Harry might murder her when she gets back home without Debbie._

" _I'll write you everyday and call you just the same," Bea continues. "And you can reach me anytime, you know that."_

 _She thinks she sees Debbie rolls her eyes, but her daughter is determined to keep her eyes fixated on the pages of what seems to be the most fascinating book in the world. Bea repeats, but she receives only silence in return._

 _Bea decides to wait a few more minutes. There's one hour left until Debbie needs to board, so she turns her gaze to the buzzing atmosphere surrounding them. Wherever she settles her eyes on, passengers from all over the world are rushing to their gates. Some are pulling young children with them, some are carrying the largest suitcases Bea has ever seen, some are juggling between eating and running, and some are looking around while trying to make sense of this peculiar universe._

 _Airports truly are unique places in the world. They know no real boundaries but possess more security guards than anywhere else. They see the purest heartbreaks and countless tsunamis of tears, but also the reunification of soulmates every day. They live outside of the concept of time. It's a place where night is day, where tomorrow is today, and where logic stops existing altogether._

 _She wonders where everyone is going._

 _It seems like they all have a goal in mind. They all know where to go. They all know where to be and who to be. They all know how to live rather than survive._

 _Meanwhile, she's there, staring blankly at her life and wondering where the hell she turned the wrong way._

" _I know you're angry, but you'll have to-"_

" _Angry?" Debbie asks in disbelief, finally looking up at her mother. "You register me to a stupid American college without warning me and you tell me a week before it's time to leave. A week. Seven days. I barely had time to pack."_

 _Bea's lips part in an attempt to explain herself, but Debbie is faster and more furious than she's ever been._

" _I have a life here, unlike you maybe?" Debbie harshly asks. "I have friends. Not over there, here! And you dragged me to the airport without letting me say goodbye to dad. And you think I'm just angry? Just because dad's an asshole to you doesn't mean he is to me._ "

 _A knife made of guilt stabs Bea in the heart, and she feels it remain there, preventing her to bleed out, but gifting her with the most excruciating pain._

" _You know it's not safe for you if you stay here."_

 _Bea knows Debbie has seen Harry beat the crap out of her many times._

" _He never hurt me," Debbie claims loudly, enough for a few curious eyes to focus on her. "Never. I would have been fine. You're the one who needs to leave him, not me."_

 _Bea closes her eyes, emotions building up inside of her. She knows Debbie's right, but she's not willing to take any chances. She repeats her mantra in her head, many times._

 _She's doing it for her daughter. She's doing it because she has no choice left. Debbie might hate her, but at least she'll be safe. Debbie is more important than anything else in the world._

 _She wants to leave Harry, and if Debbie stays here, who knows what might happen. Harry is highly capable of taking her daughter away and any visiting rights she might ever wish for._

" _It's temporary. Until I find a solution that works for all of us. I know it's hard, but I'm asking you to trust me."_

" _Why don't you trust me to stay safe instead? Why send me to another continent? I could just stay at a friend's."_

" _He might find you."_

 _He will, Bea thinks. He would stop at nothing. He would kidnap her and she will never see Debbie again._

" _You don't know that."_

 _Debbie pleads her mother to reconsider, to let her stay here, where she feels safer than in a foreign land. She loves her mother, and she loves her friends, and against all odds, she loves her father too. If she leaves,_ _she loses it all._

 _She wants her mother to be safe, and she knows it hasn't been easy, but her reality is different than Bea's. It's happier. It's positive. She doesn't want to give it up._

 _She hates that she feels like her mother is trying to get rid of her, but that's exactly how she would describe the way her heart just drops lower and lower in her chest._

" _I'm sorry, Debbie," Bea murmurs sadly._

 _She really is. She's sorry for letting things go too far when she could have acted earlier. She's sorry for letting Harry beat the life out of her when she could have called the police. She's sorry she's scared shitless even now, so terrified that she can't simply call the police on him and put an end to all of this._

 _She's sorry for falling in love with such a nightmare in the first place._

 _She's sorry for not feeling enough._

 _She's sorry for letting them down._

" _It's not enough," Debbie groans, her young impulsive heart not quite understanding the complexities of the situation. "I get it, mom, but I don't have to like I and I don't have to agree with you. It doesn't matter whether I forgive you or not anyway, you'll still send me away."_

 _Bea smiles somberly, unable to blame Debbie. She would have reacted the same if she had been in Debbie's place._

 _They sit in silence for the rest of the hour, Bea anxiously playing with her hands as Debbie reads the same page a dozen times._

 _When the flight attendant calls for everyone to board the plane, Debbie stares long and hard into her mother's eyes. She finds nothing but love and regrets, and a part of her wishes she could take back the words she said earlier._

 _But it's too late now, and it's too painful to face her mother, and she still hurts too much to think rationally._

" _So this is it," Bea smiles as wide as she can, her eyes glittering with tears._

 _Debbie nods, speechless._

 _They stand nervously together before Debbie sighs and takes a step back, ready to leave._

" _I'll call you even if you don't want me to," Bea declares as her posture straightens. "I'll text you, and I'll call you, and I'll make sure to remind you that I love you. I love you to the moon and back."_

 _Bea waits. And waits. And waits until her daughter gives in and steps closer, embracing her with all the strength she can convey. Debbie's trembling in her arms and Bea knows she's never going to forget that moment._

" _I love you, mom. Be safe."_

 _Bea swallows back the sobs and waits until Debbie's plane is high in the sky to fall apart._

 _She prays that this isn't the last time she sees her daughter._

 _She has one chance to this, she thinks, one bloody chance to make things right again._

 _One small, almost inexistent, chance._

* * *

Bea opens her eyes and stares pensively at the ceiling. She ignores the way her heart slightly jumps harder when she remembers who is lying next to her.

She'd thought that it would be strange to invite Allie in her bed, but now, she only has a bittersweet aftertaste in her mind. Have they crossed a line? Now that Allie's in her room, in her bed, so close but so far to her, can they really pretend to be only acquaintances who can't bear the thought of saying goodbye to one another at the end of the day?

Bea sighs quietly. She'll admit that she cares for Allie, but that's it. That must be it.

Bea refuses to call what they feel _love_. She can deal with the fact that Allie wants to tear her clothes apart, but should it turn out to be more, she wouldn't know how to react.

She shakes her head.

She focuses on the dream she just had. No. It wasn't much of a dream, but more of a memory. The brutal memory of the way she'd say goodbye to her daughter. She regrets it everyday, but today, the pain is sharper on her soul.

Her body is tense, and she can't seem to find a way to relax, to let the air circulate freely in her lungs again. She replays the scene in her head again and again until she learns it by heart.

She analyzes, once again, the numerous phone calls she's had with Debbie ever since that fateful day. Debbie never appeared to be particularly mad at her, or even resentful, but Bea just _heard_ the difference. She simply heard the way her daughter grew more distant with every passing day. It doesn't matter, how many times they said 'I love you' to each other.

Something had shifted.

Something that couldn't be fixed.

Something subtle, but irreplaceable.

It never gets easier to think about it and this morning isn't an exception. She can't escape her thoughts. She can't get out of her treacherous mind. She's still as rigid as a wooden board when Allie stirs awake next to her.

She's engulfed by warm arms and caring blue eyes, but she still notices the way Allie's body shakes ever so lightly, as if it were still unsure how to react to the absence of drugs.

She absently melts in Allie's embrace.

"Good morning," Allie's raspy voice resonates in the room. "Or afternoon. I'm not sure how long we slept."

Bea immediately takes note of the absence of the taunting smell of coffee. They've missed breakfast, and Allie was probably supposed to leave hours ago.

"Shit. What time is it?" Bea asks alertly.

"Time for you to calm down and enjoy the fact that we're both still alive after last night," Allie chuckles, sinking deeper under the covers, pulling Bea along.

The events of the night rush back to Bea's mind with the force of a hurricane.

Allie, losing herself to madness.

"How are you?" Bea asks softly, absently playing with Allie's hair.

"Beside the killer headache and the fact that I probably threw up my stomach last night, I'm good," Allie answers, her everlasting grin stuck on her face. "Best night I've had in a while. You make the best pillow."

"I don't know how you can still smile," Bea frowns.

"Better smile than cry," Allie shrugs. "I have a long way to go."

"But you're sober now?"

There's hope in Bea's voice and Allie hates that she has to break it.

"If only it were that simple," Allie chuckles. "I've been through this game many times and it's never just… gone the next day, you know? My body is still trying to adjust right now. It's more subtle than last night, but I can feel it. And my mind, wow. You have no idea what I'd give for a fix. A leg, a kidney, sex, my life, you name it. It's all I think about. It's all I'll be thinking about for the next week. That is, if I can resist long enough."

Addiction still owns Allie's life, and Bea only now realizes it. She feels naïve for thinking that Allie would be perfectly fine now that the night is over, for thinking that she could change Allie's entire destiny with just a few hours at a shelter.

She doesn't know exactly what is happening in Allie's mind, but she knows it isn't quiet and it isn't gentle. It's controlling and heartless, and it wants to destroy Allie even now.

"I'll stop using," Allie declares solemnly, her cerulean eyes shining.

If she ever wants a real, honest chance with Bea, she has to stop using.

"What will stop you from going back to the drugs?" Bea asks.

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to," Allie breathes out, leaving the comfort of the bed to go to the bathroom. "You know what. You know _who._ "

Allie walks out and Bea stares at the door for a few seconds before she looks down at her hands.

She doesn't want this.

She doesn't want this responsibility. It's too heavy, it's too dangerous and it's too painful. It's a weight she isn't ready to bear because it's poisonous. If Allie goes back to the drugs, Bea doesn't want to be left behind, blaming herself until she can't take it anymore.

Harry would do that. He'd blame her for all his drinking and his inability to stop. He'd tell Bea it was her fault that he was so messed up, that he was drowning himself into alcohol, and for a long time, Bea had believed him. She had tried too hard for too long to fix a problem that wasn't even hers to fix. She had lost her energy fighting someone else's war.

She refuses to do that for Allie, no matter how much she cares. She can't do it. She can't be the savior, the great hero when she feels powerless.

She shakes her head. Allie isn't Harry, she thinks. Maybe this time, it'll be different.

She's pale as a ghost and entertaining the idea of being _the_ responsible one, when Allie comes back into the room, and the blonde is by her side in an instant.

"What's wrong?" She doesn't need a degree in medical science to notice how close Bea is from passing out.

"I don't want to be the reason why you don't shove crank into your veins," Bea lashes out.

Allie gazes at her silently.

"I don't want that responsibility," Bea repeats, obvious panic flashing through her eyes.

Bea has had tons of responsibilities. To look after her daughter. To please her husband. To cover the bruises. To create lies about her life. To hide the sadness in her eyes. To pretend to be someone she isn't. She's more than exhausted now.

Allie nods calmly, her mind racing through the possibilities for such a vivid reaction from the other woman. She comes to the only conclusion that makes sense: it's related to the violence she's lived.

Allie thinks carefully about her next words, aware that she could ruin everything with a single sentence.

"It's mine," she finally says. "It's my responsibility, not yours. If I take drugs, I'm the only one to blame."

"But you said-"

"I know what I said. I didn't mean-" she pauses, unsure of how to process. "You… you give me strength. Strength and hope. You give me that, but you're right, I can't put everything on you. You make me want to do better for myself. You're the spark, Bea, but it's up to me to keep my motivation alight. Before you, I didn't know what I was missing out. Now I do, and I want that. I want a better life and that won't change, whether you're here or not."

Allie means every word and it pains her to see that Bea still doesn't let her guard down. She's afraid she might have said too much, but Bea eventually gives her a small smile, and Allie feels her heart restart.

"Thank you for last night," Allie murmurs. "I know I'm not the nicest person when I'm going off the gear. Did I hurt you?"

Bea thinks of the kicks she received and the insults that came out of Allie's mouth.

Harmless. Not directed at her.

Unlike Harry's.

"No, you didn't," Bea answers with as much sincerity she can convey.

They fall into a comfortable silence, with Bea staring at nothing and Allie staring at Bea.

"Do you think Vera told the others that I was to be kicked out after breakfast?" Allie snickers once the tension is all gone. "Because I'm still here."

"I reckon she's called the cops now," Bea shrugs. "I guess you won't be around for long after all. Any last words?"

"Will you come visit me? We can make out in the visitors' room and make everyone jealous," Allie smirks devilishly. "I promise I'll make it worth your time."

Bea laughs out loud, a feeling of freedom traveling up and down her body as the tension she's felt since she woke up disappears.

"What's so funny?" Allie asks innocently. "You're the one who said I was beautiful last night."

Bea's eyes widen, and her jaw drops to the floor.

"I didn't!"

"You so did," Allie winks. "And you know what? You meant it."

Bea rolls her eyes in embarrassment. Sure, Allie looks good. Great, even. Possibly perfect.

"Even if I did, it doesn't mean anything other than… being able to see," Bea says detachedly.

She tries to prevent her cheeks from turning red, but she fails miserably as her face grows hotter.

"Why, thanks, you're not so bad yourself," Allie rolls your eyes mockingly. "I certainly never did anything suspiciously dirty while thinking of you."

"Piss off!" Bea smiles and shakes her head in disbelief.

It's easy to laugh at Allie's words.

It's easier to laugh than to deal with the fact that for the first time, she wonders how it would feel to have Allie's lips pressing on hers.

* * *

Bea groans and bumps her head against the wall.

She's sitting on her bed, her phone in her hand as she scrolls through different pictures of the current house she's interested in buying. Allie left an hour ago, claiming she had some errands to run, and ever since, Bea's been trying to find a new place to call her own.

Trying.

Her mind keeps going back to Allie.

Is she safe? Is she somewhere that's untouched by drugs? Is she back in her so-called home? Bea's thoughts are restless, and she can't block them, no matter how hard she tries. They always come back, snacking on her sanity as the minutes disappear.

She'd made Allie promise to join her this afternoon, but now, she's regretting it. She wishes she had asked the blonde to stay. It's not that she doesn't trust Allie to stay safe, it's just that she's so damn worried about her that she can't stop imagining her somewhere, unconscious with a needle in her arm, no matter how irrational that thought might be.

She believes in Allie's promise to never take another drug again, but she knows temptations can be hard to resist. It's not easy to leave a toxic relationship. Before she'd left Harry for good, she'd gone back and forth with him, giving him many chances that he hadn't deserved, putting her life in danger every single time. She'd always come back to him, thinking this time would be different, and realizing she was wrong a little too late.

She tries to go back to her quest to find a new place to live. She needs a place big enough for her and Debbie, far enough from her previous neighborhood, and recent enough to last a few years. As she swipes through the many choices, she feels something bubbling in her stomach.

Harry doesn't have to leave. Harry doesn't have to search relentlessly for a new place to live. Harry doesn't have to find a place based on dozens of criteria because he's afraid for his safety. Harry doesn't have to worry about whether he'll have a home by the end of the month. Harry doesn't have to deal with a nearly empty bank account because his partner controlled him economically.

It isn't fucking fair, and she feels angrier by the minute.

Someone knocks on her door, and she swallows the frustration away.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

She recognizes Will Jackson's voice.

"Sure."

She doesn't know much about Will.

She's seen him a few times in the shelter. He's always talking to the kids or making sure everything is fine with the mothers, but he doesn't spend much time with those who don't have children. He would ask her how she is, but that's all there is to their previous interactions. She doesn't mind. She's known since day one that he's there to work on the relationship between children and their parents.

As a man, he has an important responsibility with the children, most of which are constantly asking what happened to their father.

"I heard that you wanted to see me?" He asks curiously, sitting on the chair while Bea stays on her bed. "How are you?"

For security reasons, he leaves the door open, but keeps his tone low so his words aren't heard by the entire house.

"I'm good. And I did," Bea nods, fiddling with her hands. She knows of the strict rules of this place, and she hopes that her request won't be denied. She has no idea how Will might react, because she hasn't spent time with him, and she's nervous. "I have a daughter."

Will's surprised expression lets Bea know that the social worker had no idea about it. His smile softens as he motions for Bea to continue.

"She's studying abroad, but she'll come back next week. I was wondering if she could come here to live with me while she's on vacation. I know that it's against the rules to just bring someone here, but I'm assuming you know my situation. I don't want her to go back."

Will sighs loudly and nods once, signaling that he's thinking about Bea's request. He glances at the various pictures on the wall before he turns back to her.

"Like you said, it's against the rules. You can't disclose our address to anyone that wasn't with you when you arrived here, unless it's planned. This wasn't planned. I didn't even know you had a daughter."

"I thought I'd have a place by now," Bea admits. "I thought I could just move and ask Debbie to join me, but it looks like I'll be here for a while. I can't seem to find a good place. Please."

"I can't answer for now," Will replies gently, torn between his desire to help Bea and his need to respect the security protocols. "I have to consult my team, but I'm telling you now, you might want to search harder for this new place of yours."

There's a delicacy in Will's tone that reassures Bea despite the absence of a positive answer.

"I'm trying to find a place. I'm actively searching, I don't want Debbie to come to this place. It's intimidating and it's just hard to accept that this is where I am now."

"I understand, Bea. I do," Will insists when Bea glances at him doubtfully. "How are things between you and Debbie?"

Bea thinks of her dream. Her memory. The shift.

"They could be better," Bea replies sourly. "But it's not so bad. We won't cause any problem, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not why I'm asking. I'm genuinely curious about how things are between the two of you. It can't be easy to be in this situation."

"It isn't, but we'll get through it. We've gone through worse," Bea says strongly, convinced. "I don't need advices, I just want to know if she can come here if I don't have a place by then. I swear I'll search day and night, but if I can't find a place, I don't want to send her back unless I go with her. And we both know, I can't go back."

Will nods, reading between the lines. He usually lets the women come to him with the problems, rather than push his opinions on them, unless it's a life-threatening situation for the children.

"I can't promise anything," he repeats. "I have to consult my team and I'll get back to you with an answer as soon as I can."

Bea feels her chest tightens.

Harry doesn't have to deal with all this crap, she thinks as anger boils back in her blood.

Will notices Bea's change of behavior the second it happens. He's trained for this. He's worked many years here and not many things can be hidden from his eagle eye.

"You're angry," he states. "Was your ex-husband violent towards your daughter?"

"No," Bea says through gritted teeth. "But she knows. She saw things."

Bea remembers the first time her four years old daughter had looked up at her, asking her why her arms were turning blue. It had broken her heart and to this day, it still hurts to think about it.

Will makes a mental note to read Bea's file. He tries to avoid reading the files he's not directly involved in, but in this situation, he might just need to make an exception.

"Witnessing violence is also a form of domestic violence," Will explains. "Debbie might never have been hit, it doesn't mean there were no consequences for her either. Children, no matter how young they are, will remember everything they see and hear."

He pauses when Bea throws a glacial look his way.

 _I fucking know it_ is written in Bea's eyes as the woman refuses to let him in further.

"I'm here if you have any question. I'll talk to my team, but you should know that we will need your full cooperation if we accept. That means, you'll meet me, and we'll talk about this. If you don't agree, you might as well tell me now."

"I'll wait then," Bea mutters. "Until you have an answer for me."

Will smiles in amusement.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Bea shakes her head negatively.

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson."

"I'll see you as soon as possible," Will answers as he leaves the room.

When he's gone, Bea's back on her phone, barely blinking as she searches through different websites for an apartment she could rent.

She searches until her eyes hurt and until her fingers are numb, and by the time Maxine knock on her door to let her know it's time to go outside, she's beaming with a dozen saved links and options.

* * *

The ocean is endless before her eyes. It stretches towards the horizon and it seems infinite, impossible to cross. It shines with a vibrant blue as the sun thrives brightly above her head. It's hard to imagine that she won't drown if she swims along with the currents. She also finds it difficult to believe that within its waves live some of the most dangerous animals on the planet.

The white foam that forms at the shore tickles her feet when she dips her toes in the water. She sees the tiniest fishes moving around her. The salted water is cold, but not enough to scare her back to the group. She thinks she hears Boomer calling her name, but she ignores it, needing a moment for herself.

She closes her eyes and leans her head back. Her feet sink slowly in the sand as the water comes and goes. The sun is warm on her skin, but she gets goosebumps from the occasional brush of lukewarm wind. The ocean makes her feel smaller than she's ever been, and suddenly, her worries don't feel so terrible anymore.

She only arrived a few minutes ago, but she feels like she could stay here for years, bathing in the salted air and the sound of the ocean. She feels like she could dive underwater and never come out, and she might just be fine with becoming a mermaid.

She listens to the children's laughs, to the surfers trying to ride the waves, to the voices of many strangers, and to the sea's symphony. It puts a smile on her face.

Right here and right now, she feels like she doesn't owe anything to anyone, like she's shedding from her old skin and stepping into a new one.

"Bea, come help us with this thing!"

She leaves the water and turns around with her eyes wide open. Maxine's gesturing at her to come back on dry land as Franky scowls at the simple diamond kite in her hand. It's supposed to be an afternoon out for the women of the shelter, but Franky being herself, she'd decided to join the activity.

"We can't make it fly," Boomer pouts when Bea joins her. "Stupid thing won't do its job."

They're standing at a peaceful place on the beach, where they have plenty of space to talk freely about what occupies their mind.

"It's broken," Franky argues. "It has to be! I've done the whole thing right! It's supposed to be flying now."

"Patience, love, you'll be fine," Maxine smiles softly. "What would Bridget say?"

Franky sighs sadly.

She misses Bridget. She hasn't seen her since she left the shelter and her next appointment is still a week away. She's dying to hear her voice. It's stupid, but she's gotten attached, and now it's too late to go back, too late to ask for her heart back when it comes to the blonde psychologist. She's tried calling her, but Bridget had made it very clear that she couldn't just call without a solid reason.

According to Franky, wanting to talk about the weather was an excellent reason, but Bridget had simply laughed and repeated that she'd see her in a week.

Franky starts fiddling with the kite again, running around and letting it float a few centimeters in the air without making it fly higher. She manages to let it go up a few meters before she trips and falls ungraciously in front of her friends, bringing the kite down with her.

"Maxine?"

Maxine takes the kite gently and examines it before she motions for Boomer to help her. Boomer walks farther and throws the kite in the air, hoping it will fly as Maxine pulls the cord. It seems to work until the kite falls abruptly in the sand. They try again, and a third time, until Boomer raises her hands in the air in disbelief.

"Can't do it," she groans.

She shakes her head and shoves the kite in Bea's hands.

"Your turn," she says. "We've all tried."

"I- I don't know about that," Bea stammers as she looks at the foreign object in her hands. "Why do we even have a kite?"

"It was my father's. I always bring it when I come here," Franky shares. "It's just a way to remember him."

"I've never flew one of these before."

"You've got a kid?! How have you not?" Franky mocks. "Did you give her a childhood?!"

The last sentence rings loud in Bea's head. She's thankful for Franky's boldness, for the way the dark-haired woman never treats her differently, but the words still sting.

"We never went to the beach," Bea admits shyly. "It wasn't something we could do."

Franky nods once and grabs the kite back.

"Alright, let's not think about things we can't do. We're here to just have fun!" she smiles widely. "What do you do for fun, Red?"

Bea opens her mouth to answer when she realizes she doesn't know the answer to this question.

She doesn't do _fun._ She can't remember the last time she went to the beach just to hang out with other people. She used to love it, to love the scent of the sea and the walks on the sand, but Harry had stopped her from going when he'd seen her talking too much to other people. He'd yelled at her and told her she was a whore for walking around in a swimsuit.

He had ruined it for her.

"You tell me," Bea shakes the memory away. "What do we do for fun?"

Franky's answer comes automatically, like she just knew Bea would ask her.

"Well, first, you put a smile on your face," Franky grins wickedly. "Second, you stand like your puppy's still alive." She crosses her arms on her chest, tilts her head towards the sky, and poses extravagantly like an Olympian goddess, sending a quick wink toward Bea.

Bea's shoulder is lightly push by Maxine, and she finds herself already feeling better in the company of the women who taught her to love her life again. Maxine's eyes shine with joy, and Bea is almost fooled into thinking that the cancer's gone. But there is an everlasting tiredness in Maxine's features and Bea's heart aches when she notices it again.

"And third," Boomer tells her, "the last one's in the water buys everyone ice cream! Except Maxie because… well… whatever."

She sprints in direction of the sea, spraying sand everywhere as she runs as fast as she can. She nearly falls when she reaches the water, but she catches herself just in time. She gestures with energy for the others to join her.

Franky lets out a loud war cry as she runs right behind, yelling profanities as she gets closer to Boomer. As soon as she reaches the water, she tackles Boomer and both women lose their balance as they crash into the waves.

"What about our clothes?" Bea worries out loud.

"They'll dry," Maxine answers with a laugh. "Now come on, unless you want to spend all your money on Boomer's ice cream. She takes every flavor and it'll cost you."

"You can't be serious?"

"You really want to find out? No, you don't."

Maxine takes Bea's hand and gently jogs to the shore, dragging Bea behind. Bea tries to slow down as much as possible for Maxine's sake, but it becomes clear that the taller woman has no intention of slowing down, and they soon find themselves standing by Boomer's side.

The cold bites Bea's legs, but she doesn't care, not when Franky suddenly appears behind her and sends water flying all over her back. Bea gasps at the way her shirt turns to ice, but she can't help the smile that appears on her face.

She feels like she's five years old again and she absolutely loves it.

"You're gonna regret that," she bites the inside of her cheek. She throws herself at Franky and squeals, actually _squeals_ , when they both fall into the water and the taste of salt takes over her mouth.

The thought of keeping her clothes dry is long gone and she pushes and pulls at Franky's arms, spraying her with water and thriving under Boomer's loud cheers. Franky replies by grabbing a fistful of wet sand and dropping inside Bea's shirt, eliciting a loud scream from Bea.

They fight for dominance, Bea trying to push Franky's head underwater, and Franky trying to stop laughing for long enough to escape Bea's hands. It takes a few seconds, but Franky resists and moves her leg behind Bea's knee, making the other woman lose her balance and fall over.

"You were saying?" She smirks, shaking her soaked hair away from her face. "That all you got, Red? I'm disappointed."

"Oh yeah?" Bea grins. "You haven't seen anything yet!"

She runs away a few meters and casually stays there as Franky eyes her suspiciously. Then, without warning, she suddenly races back to Franky like a bullet. She harshly crashes into Franky and sends them both to the ground where they get swallowed by the ocean. They manage to grasp for air and reach the sand before Bea pins Franky down with a victorious smile. The smallest waves are still high enough to make Franky flinch whenever one reaches her face and burns her eyes.

"Who's the winner?" Bea declares loudly for everyone to hear.

Franky keeps her mouth shut, determined not to say a word. She winces when another wave hits her, but she's stubborn and even when Bea doesn't make any movement to release her, she keeps her lips together.

"Damn, Franky," Boomer whistles. "You got your ass kicked."

"Shut up, Booms," Franky groans. "I can totally get back up."

She tries to stand up, but Bea won't budge. She tries again, harder, even trespassing the limits as she kicks Bea's sides harder than she means to. Bea flinches, but doesn't move. If anything, it encourages her to keep her strong hold on Franky.

"Who won?" Bea nearly sings as pride fills her eyes.

Franky exhales loudly, annoyed at the fact that she just lost, but mostly blissful for the way Bea seems to enjoy herself. Ever since her first meeting with Bea, she had known it would be hard to get past her defenses.

Today is one of the rare times she feels like she sees Bea without her armor on. She wouldn't trade that sight for the world.

"You did," she reluctantly says.

"Can't hear you," Bea grins.

Franky bites her lips before she speaks again, louder.

"You won."

"Ha! Hear that?" Bea triumphs, glancing at Maxine and Boomer, "I won."

She releases Franky, not before shoving her playfully one last time against the sand.

"Queen Bea," Franky smirks when she stands again. "You still arrived last in the water, so you owe us ice cream."

She walks in the water to wash away the sand, and Bea does the same.

"Now, Franky, I believe we arrived at the same time," Maxine interrupts. "We'll pay together."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Bea says. She knows she isn't the richest person on this beach, but she also imagines that the cost of Maxine's treatment must be draining the woman's bank account. "I'll get it."

"Nonsense! I'm coming with you and that's final." Maxine insists. She takes Bea's hand and starts walking toward the nearest ice cream stand, a few meters away on the beach.

Bea quickly mentally notes Franky's order and follows Maxine. The sand is hot under her feet and the sweet warmth coming from the sun above is enough to make the coldness of the ocean disappear.

She walks in silence for a minute. She can't remember the last time she felt so carefree. Sure, she's felt some powerful emotions recently, whenever she's met with Allie, but this is different.

This is personal. This is about herself and how she lives her life when she isn't enchanted by Allie's presence. This is about the way she laughs when Allie isn't around to make her laugh, or the way she loves herself when Allie isn't around to remind her that she's worthy of love. She wants this feeling to last forever.

She hopes that she can find this feeling again, once she's back in the city and the sea belongs to someone else.

"You didn't have to come with me," she says softly to Maxine.

"I wanted to. I've never seen Franky so helpless before," Maxine chuckles. "You really gave her a lesson that she isn't invincible."

"Good. Maybe that'll help with that huge ego of hers," Bea laughs. "You think she'd hurt me if I got her the wrong flavor by mistake?"

"Would it really be a mistake or are just more evil than I anticipated?"

"I guess you'll never know," Bea ends lightly.

Maxine hums and looks ahead. The ice cream stand is just a minute away, but she stops walking and turns to face Bea. The wind rushes around her, making the corners of her bandana fly and disclose her short hair to the world. She feels self-conscious, like she's never going to be a separate entity from cancer, and it physically hurts her when she parts her lips to speak again.

"I went to see my doctor," she starts when Bea looks at her attentively. "Chemo isn't enough."

Bea feels the happiness slowly vanishing from the world. Suddenly, the sun isn't warm enough and the sea doesn't feel like her friend anymore. It feels like a bomb has gone off, and its smoke is clouding the sky.

It feels cold, and not the same kind that made her shiver when she walked into the water. It feels like the night is here, and it will never go away.

"He says that it's not enough and that the cancer's still there in both breasts. I need to have a double mastectomy," Maxine whispers like the words are too violent to be said loudly.

"Oh, Maxie, I'm so sorry," Bea murmurs. She wishes she knew what to say, but the words are escaping her and no matter how hard she seeks them, they never come back.

"It's the hardest decision. I can't just… cut off my breasts. It's who I am and it's all being taken away from me," Maxine struggles to speak as tears shine in her eyes.

Bea inhales slowly.

She doesn't know how to react. There's no class that taught her about the proper reaction or the right things to say when her closest friend is learning that she might not make it out alive after all. There's no rule to follow or way to shut down her sorrows at Maxine's confession. She can only take it all and try her best to not let it kill her too.

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I haven't told the others yet," Maxine admits. "It's too hard. Just thinking about Boomer's reaction, can you imagine? She'll be devastated."

"She'll want you to do what's best for you."

"I can't tell them that I don't want the mastectomy. They'll kill me before the cancer does," Maxine insists. "I know it's selfish to think like that. To say that I want to keep the parts of me that will end my life, but I fought for so long to be who I am. I fought for so long to get the hormones, to get the body I needed. I've had my own family turn on me. I've had my ex-boyfriend cut my hair while I was sleeping because he couldn't love the real me."

Bea listens, lips slightly parted, and heart wide open.

"That's why I ended up at Wentworth. No one wanted me. No one wanted to use my name. No one wanted to listen to me. Everyone left. It was like I was never born."

In that moment, Bea wishes she could take all this pain off Maxine's shoulders and carry it herself. No one, she thinks, no one should have to go through this.

No one should have to suffer for being themselves.

"Today's the last day I can keep it a secret. I must decide as soon as I can, and I don't know how to tell the others. I don't want to break their hearts."

"You do what you need to do to survive," Bea simply says. "You trust them to take care of their own heart while yours heals."

She's never given much thought about death.

She's always thought that if she focused too much on death, that Harry would know it and kill her.

She's never feared her own death, because she's always found a way to escape it.

Whenever Harry hurt her, she would rest and try to heal her body as much as she could before the next hit came.

And now, she fears death, not her own, but Maxine's, and everyone else's. She can't imagine what a world without Maxine would be like. She can't imagine going through the shelter's hall without seeing Boomer. She can't think of the awful silence she'd have to face if Franky suddenly stopped existing.

And there's no way she could ever smile again in a world without Allie.

"What if I don't get the surgery?" Maxine asks with a voice so low that Bea has to move closer to her to hear the words.

"Then you don't get the surgery. But is that really what you want?"

Maxine seems to think about it deeply before she sighs.

"I wish I wanted to stay alive," she confesses, "but I don't. Not like this. I wish I didn't know I was dying, so I could go back to who I was. Everything changed when I learned I had cancer. Suddenly, laughing was different. Smiling felt different. Breathing… I've never been so self-conscious of the fact that I was breathing. I started to question every choice I made because I wanted to have no regrets left. I changed completely."

Maxine smiles like she knows she's come to the end of her road.

"Imagine if someone told you that you were dying. What would you do?"

Bea remain quiet, unable to find an answer.

"Bea, I felt like I was dying everyday for most years of my life. Hiding who I was, pretending to conform to the world, accepting that I was a freak, it all felt like death to me. But I still walked on because I knew that it wasn't really over. I knew that no matter how I felt, at the end of the day, I would still be here and I could still win this cruel game. I knew I had a choice."

Maxine shakes her head sadly.

"And now, I don't have a choice anymore."

Maxine pauses, and Bea stops breathing for a moment as a tear escapes her eye.

Traitorous tear.

Maxine takes Bea's hand softly.

"I never wanted to die, even when I was at the lowest point in my life. But if death is being forced on me, I want to do it on my terms. I want to spend whatever days I have left as myself. I'm done letting other people decide for me."

"I'll help you," Bea whispers. "You won't be alone in this. I won't let you."

"I appreciate it, love," Maxine sighs, her eyes lost in the distance. "I just wanted to tell you first. So you can help Booms and maybe even Franky, if she'll let you."

Bea nods silently, accepting Maxine's plead. She thinks there's no way Franky would ever accept help, but she'll try. She'll try as hard as she can, even if it means breaking Franky's walls with a metaphorical hammer.

"Now," Maxine puts her mask back in place. "What kind of ice cream were you thinking of getting for Franky?"

* * *

When they return to Franky and Boomer, ice cream melting all over their hands, Maxine is laughing at a snarky remark from Bea. Franky snatches one cone from Maxine's hand and rolls her eyes when she notices they got her order wrong. She doesn't mind though, because Maxine's found a way to pick her second favorite, and with the heat hitting her head, she isn't about to complain. Beside her, Boomer beams at the mix of colors that is piled up on a small sugar cone and quickly digs in.

They sit on the sand and bask in the sun, waiting for their soaked clothes to dry. It's easy to forget where they come from, what they have been through, and anyone looking at them would see nothing more than a couple of friends enjoying an afternoon at the beach.

Bea can't quite put her mind at ease, even when they all wear easygoing expressions on their faces while they eat their treats. Maxine's words are playing on repeat in her mind and she can't focus on anything else. She knows tomorrow will hit hard on all of them. She knows she'll have to be strong, but it'll be messy, and it might just destroy them.

She thinks she might suffocate.

"Bea," Maxine calls. "Your friend's here."

Bea looks up, only to feel her lips curve up when she notices Allie walking towards them.

Allie always appears when she needs her most.

"So this is what you look like when the sun shines down on you," Allie declares, sitting next to her favorite person.

"Disappointed?"

"Quite the opposite," Allie licks her lips hungrily, her eyes shifting from Bea's eyes to her tongue swirling around the melting ice cream. "I told you I'd you again in the afternoon. So here I am. Can't believe you got wet before I got here though... I missed the fun."

Bea turns red, and Franky won't let a good opportunity slips from her fingers.

"No lover of yours, eh Red?" Franky laughs. "Are we finally going to know your name or what?"

"I'm Allie. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but you did threaten to hurt me last time I saw you."

Bea's fist hits Franky shoulder.

"You did?"

"Just looking out for my girls," Franky shrugs.

"Franky's a softie," Boomer says in-between two licks of her previous cone, "she just doesn't want us to know."

"Well thanks, Booms, now everyone knows! But for the record, that's a lie. I'm not a softie. I'm a beast. And you did just show up in the middle of the night, what was I supposed to do?!"

"The first time you met me, you invited me in your room," Bea deadpans. "It was the morning after I'd just arrived."

"Well, she was obviously going into your room, Red! I'm not going to steal someone else's love. I'm a gentlewoman."

Bea laughs along with the others at Franky's poor attempt to explain herself, but her eyes stay on Allie. She feels the familiar feeling bubbling in her stomach. It's like butterflies, except a thousand times stronger.

Thoughts of Maxine's illness shift to the back of her mind, not gone, but dulled by Allie's presence, as if Allie knew exactly when to arrive to allow Bea to enjoy the present again.

Gosh. She feels like a freaking teenager experiencing her first love, and the fact that it's the first time they see each other in the middle of the day doesn't help. The sun reflects on Allie's blonde hair and the deep blue of her eyes captures Bea's soul.

"This is Franky, Boomer and Maxine," Bea introduces, trying to make sense of everything she's feeling.

"And you are Bea's secret lover," Franky repeats with a smirk. "I have to say, I knew Bea had it in her, but I didn't know you'd be her type. I thought she'd found a bit of Franky replacement, but you're nothing like me!"

Bea buries her head in the palm of her hands.

"Well, I'm not complaining about that," Allie smiles like she just won the lottery.

"We're not… it isn't like that," Bea groans, still hiding behind her hands.

Franky raises her hands in surrender, a mocking look on her face.

"So you're friends?" she asks, half serious.

"Friends, right," Boomer snickers. "Friends who want to get in each other's pants," she whispers to Maxine.

Maxine doesn't say anything, but her eyes twinkle at the duo. Bea might not realize it, but Maxine _sees_ the way she lights up under Allie's stare.

Allie leans forward to steal a bite from Bea's ice cream, but she can't even reach it, as Bea shoves the cone in her face. Bea laughs when the blonde lets out a high-pitched cry when her nose gets covered with ice cream. Allie wipes the ice cream away and grins widely when Bea tries to get her again. She manages to dodge Bea's attacks for a few seconds before Bea changes her strategy.

Bea drops the whole thing on top of Allie's head in a smooth movement.

"You're insane!" Allie yelps. "You're wasting ice cream!"

"I'm having fun," Bea states, her smile mirroring Allie's. "Come on, don't you want a shampoo made of chocolate and raspberry? Franky, give me yours!"

"No fucking way, get away from me!" Allie gets up and jogs away, soon followed by Bea.

"Children," Boomer hums when the two women splash around in the water. "They're children."

Franky nods absently. If she hadn't seen it herself, she never would have believed it. Bea Smith never ceases to surprise her.

She'd notice the exchanged glances between Maxine and Bea when they'd come back with the sweet treats. She hadn't said anything, but she sees everything and notes everything in her head. She isn't blind enough to miss the way Maxine's smile has faltered since she came back.

"You okay, Maxie?" she asks, knowing that she probably won't receive any answer in return.

"Of course, she is," Boomer protests loudly, almost insulted by Franky's question. "Right?!"

When Maxine simply nods at them in a reassuring way, Franky lets it go. Whatever it is, she knows she must give Maxine enough time to think this through. She doesn't stop worrying, but she directs her eyes to the water.

Allie is trying to wash her hair in the sea when Bea joins her, a smile tattooed on her face.

"Who knew you were so mean," Allie grins.

"I'm a hairdresser, I was simply doing my job," Bea answers slyly.

"You were trying to get me wet, I get it! It looks like you got what you wished for," Allie winks. Her white t-shirt is dripping, and her dark blue bra is popping from underneath. Bea tries her best to advert her eyes, but she stares.

She stares for a small three seconds, and Allie will never forget it, will never forget that satisfying feeling that makes her entire body buzz under Bea's eyes.

"Like what you see?" she takes a step closer.

Bea remains silent, but the shy smile that creeps on her face tells Allie everything she needs to know.

"I don't like the feeling of clothes sticking to my body," Allie declares innocently, pulling her shirt above her head and trying to take it off.

Bea nearly loses her mind right this moment. Drops of water dripping down Allie's cleavage and disappearing between her breasts. Pale skin shining under the light of the sun and stretching beautifully as Allie's arms move higher. Hint of strong abs being revealed as the shirt is slowly being removed.

"Stop it! Everyone can see you," Bea interrupts hesitantly, her hand reaching for Allie's forearm, preventing the blonde from continuing further.

The coldness of Bea's hand surprises Allie, and it sends delightful shivers all over her body.

"So? It isn't different than a swimsuit," Allie shrugs in amusement, unable to hide her smile at Bea's complete embarrassment. She lowers her shirt back slowly. "Don't like to share? Want me all to yourself?"

Bea shakes her head, unsure of what message she wants to convey. She wishes she could sink in the sand until she reaches the center of the Earth. Maybe then, she'll be free from these feelings that keep taking her heart in hostage. Maybe she'll finally stop blushing and staring and acting like a madwoman every time Allie is around.

Allie dares Bea to say something, but if Bea can barely breathe, how is she supposed to speak?

Allie takes another step closer until there's no space left between them. If she moves closer, they might never be apart again. She ignores the wind, which is growing stronger around them and howling in their ears, and she never lets her eyes leave Bea's.

If she breaks this contact, she'll never forgive herself, especially now that Bea seems to be as hypnotized as she is.

She's sober now. She's sober, and fully aware of how much she wants to kiss Bea. She's fully aware that if she gives in to this urge, this craving she's had since day one, it will mean something now. It won't be a meaningless touch or a soon-to-be forgotten collision between their worlds. It'll be so much more.

She asks permission with her eyes because she's too busy licking her lips to open her mouth.

She waits what feels like a million years until Bea silently answers, silently ends Allie's agony.

She moves imperceptibly closer and Bea stands still, nervously waiting, wanting, needing Allie.

Bea wishes she could stop time.

Right now, just before they connect. It doesn't matter if she gets a dozen sunburns or if her body suffers from the salted air. All she cares about is that addicting feeling of anticipation. All she cares about is Allie, whose presence makes Bea believe that summertime will last forever.

A wave crashes into them.

A literal, glacial, violent wave that comes from the deepest parts of the sea.

 _This fucking ocean_ , Allie curses mentally when she loses her balance and falls to the ground. Of course. She should be so lucky. By the time she dries her eyes and coughs the salt away, Bea is already retreating, shielding herself away from Allie.

And Allie lets her, like she always does, because she wants Bea to be ready for this, and Bea isn't anymore.

 _This stupid, useless piece of shit ocean,_ she thinks again.

"Are you feeling better?" Bea asks when they get out of the water.

Her heart is pounding in her chest and she's sure it isn't from the sudden wave. She can't seem to calm it down as it catapults higher and harder inside her chest.

"Perfect," Allie ironically answers. "Just what I needed, a cold shower."

Bea rolls her eyes.

"I meant about the absence of gear and all that."

"Not gonna lie, I still feel like I'm dying," Allie chuckles.

Her head is dizzy, and her heart feels like it's struggling to beat, and her lungs are about to give up under the physical effort it takes her to resist moving closer to Bea again.

Her eyes are burning from how bright the sun is, but she refuses to blink more than she needs to, afraid she'll miss too much of Bea.

Afraid that if she blinks, she'll open her eyes to realize that she's imagined all of this.

Bea trips on the sand and clears her throat at Allie's choice of words.

"Are you alright?" Allie is quickly by her side, offering her arm for support.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Bea quickly answers. "I got distracted."

Distracted by Maxine's words, by Allie's withdrawal, by whatever was going to happen between them just now, by her own insecurities and by the fact that she can't ever get a break, even on a paradisiac beach.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Bea smiles. "Thanks."

"No worries. So… you missed me yet?"

Bea laughs out loud.

"I'm afraid you weren't gone long enough for me to miss you."

Allie shakes her head and sees through Bea's lies, but it's become a game now, and she answers with a smile. One day though, she'll get Bea to say the words.

"Well, I sure missed you," Allie admits. "I've been thinking about you all day."

"You've been with me half the time."

"Doesn't matter. Believe it or not, I just can't get enough of you."

Bea blushes just enough for Allie to notice it. She doesn't offer any answer. She just nods at the sand and pretends to count every single grain, hoping it'll distract her from the overwhelming sensation that she might pass out at any given moment.

"You know, I've been thinking, maybe I should go visit Kaz."

They walk back to the group where Franky is still trying to get her kite to fly. She swears and yells at the inanimate object, and Boomer tries to help, only to make things worse.

"Kaz? Are you sure?"

"I want to wait until I'm really off the gear, but yeah, I'd like that. She has contacts and she can help me find a place to stay other than the streets. I don't know if she'll want to, but it's worth a try. I don't want to go back to where I was," Allie bites her lips, "that's where I'll be more at risk of relapse."

"What contacts?"

"They're good, don't worry," Allie assures Bea. "The Red Right Hand… even if the screws messed with us, we're still a family."

This Red Right Hand group doesn't inspire much trust to Bea, but she takes Allie's answer as it is.

"I thought about that too, what would happen if you were to go back there," Bea admits. "I don't want you to go back. Franky's left. Maybe they'll take you at Wentworth."

"I don't think so. They won't let me in again, knowing how it went down last time."

"We don't know that. We have to try," Bea insists. "We did it last time."

Allie admires Bea's persistence, but she doesn't allow herself to hope. Not yet.

"Already trying to replace me, Red?" Franky chimes in. She's holding the string in one hand and tries to make the kite fly by throwing the other end up in the sky. She'll be damned if she leaves the beach without succeeding.

"There's only one Franky Doyle, that's for sure," Bea replies. "I won't replace you. You can't be replaced."

Franky acts like she isn't affected by the answer, but she glows at Bea's words.

"Now if only I could make that shit fly," she mutters as the kite, once again, lands flatly in the sand.

Allie jumps next to her and takes the kite off her hands.

"Let the expert do it," she declares when Franky looks at her like she's insane.

She walks farther and waits for the wind to pick up. She has a serious look on her face. She wants to impress Bea. It's ridiculous, and it's childish, but she wants to impress Bea by flying this diamond kite higher than it's ever flown before. She doesn't have many skills, but she knows how to control the air to make any kite fly. It's one of her secret talents.

She knows everyone's eyes are on her when she manages to make the kite float a few meters high. She waits until she feels the string tense in her hands before she loosens her grip and frees a few more inches. The kite jumps in the sky, joining the blue firmament and tracing lines amongst the clouds.

Allie lets out a laugh.

She's done it. She's about to turn around to face the other women, but she doesn't need to. They've joined her, in awe of this small accomplishment that makes their hearts beat in happiness. They've joined her, and Allie feels like she will never have to stand alone again.

Bea is by her side, ecstatic and looking at the sky like she's discovering it for the first time.

Franky claps and even adds a few whistles to share her joy.

Boomer cheers, jumps and calls out every person on the beach to look up at the kite.

Maxine's smile is immortal.

They are unbreakable.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! :)**


	7. Dancing through a dream

**It just occured to me that my chapters are getting longer, and so they take more time to write. I might not update every week anymore, but until then, enjoy this one!**

 **Chapter's title is from the beautiful song 'Welcome to wonderland' by the great Anson Seabra.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7 : Dancing through a dream underneath the stars**

The walk home is quiet.

Franky plays with the kite until the road splits in two and she must go her own way, opposite from the group's. She leaves them with a megawatt smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and with the radiant promise that she'll invite them over as soon as she's fully settled in. She shares a heavy look with Maxine and hopes that Boomer doesn't notice.

Boomer kicks a dozen of tiny rocks as she walks. She pouts all the way back at Maxine's sudden quietness and at the guarded secrets she knows exist outside her consciousness. She tells herself that it's not personal and that she should not be offended by the situation. She tries not to be hurt when she sees Franky and Maxine exchange silent words together.

Maxine listens to the rocks bouncing a few centimeters in front of the group as Boomer keeps kicking them farther. She focuses on pretending like every breath she takes doesn't send a sharp pain in her chest. After Franky leaves, she directs her eyes to the sky and wonders why such perfect day must come to an end.

Bea hears the almost inaudible way Maxine winces with every inhalation she takes. It breaks her into pieces and she wishes that she could give all her healthy parts to Maxine. She curses her inability to help. The presence of Allie offers somewhat of a distraction, and the memory of the wave crashing into them keeps sending heat in every atom of her body.

Allie watches Franky walks away and is reminded of what possibly awaits her if she ever betrays Bea. She thinks Bea is lucky to be surrounded by such beautiful, loyal people. She can't mess it up, can't relapse or go too fast with Bea. She must weight every decision she makes from now on, but she doesn't mind. She's ready to wait forever.

Their hearts beat all at once.

* * *

Vera listens attentively to Bea's speech about why keeping Allie at Wentworth would be the best decision she could make in a decade. She must admit that Bea is quite a good orator. She listens and shows that she cares about what Bea says by asking questions and repeating statements. She thinks about it. She really does. She thinks about the role of the shelter and the reason why they exist in the very first place.

There's no denying that Allie needs help, all the help she can get, but Vera's priority is to keep the current residents safe. Allie's past is anything but a guarantee that the women and their children will be safe. Vera weights Bea's arguments and really tries to focus on the positive outcomes that could result from Allie staying at Wentworth.

Sadly, it is a well-known rule that all residents of Wentworth must be clean, must not have taken drugs for at least three months prior their arrival. They're not a resource with the right tools to help those struggling with a drug addiction of any sort. There's also the fact that they don't accept ex-residents, especially if they've recently been kicked out for a solid reason.

She almost accepts. Almost. But she ultimately decides that she can't make an exception. She can't bend the rules in a way that would be unfair to other women or requests they might receive. She rejects Allie's request to stay permanently at Wentworth with a thousand apologies lining up on her lips.

Bea feels like every word Vera says comes out in the form of a guillotine slicing through Allie's best chance at getting wants to protest, but Vera makes it clear that this isn't up to discussion. Bea slams her fist on the table, and Vera gives her a fair warning that violence isn't tolerated here.

Bea shrugs, but she already has another idea in mind. If Vera won't let Allie come in, then she must let Bea go out for one entire night. It's something Wentworth doesn't allow either, for safety reasons.

Bea stands in the office for a full hour, arguing with Vera about why she should be allowed to spend a night out. Because she fears for Allie's life. Because it'd be stupid to gamble with Allie's life just because Vera wants to follow every goddamn rule that exists in this place. Because someone's life is worth more than that, more than rigidity and guidelines that were written without taking in consideration a person's personal needs.

This time, Bea comes out victorious with a golden ticket that allows her to leave Wentworth for a full twenty-four hours without risking losing her room.

Wentworth doesn't take reservation and doesn't keep places for people. Bea will need to come back tomorrow afternoon at the latest, or she'll find her belongings waiting for her outside.

It might be cruel, but it's the only way the shelter can deal with the constant demands from the many victims of domestic violence.

"Thank you," Bea says, standing on the shelter's porch with a small bag full of personal effects. "I'll be back first thing tomorrow."

Vera nods, glancing behind Bea at Allie's figure.

"Be safe, both of you."

She waits for Bea and Allie to be only shadows in the streets before she closes the door and locks it. She leans against it for a minute. It's midnight and it's pitch black outside. She just sent two women out in the streets for the night.

Two women she could have helped, had the situation been ever so slightly different.

She feels like she just betrayed everything she stands for.

* * *

Bea is fuming. She's incredibly furious at Vera for not being able to make an exception when a life is at stake. She wants to force Wentworth's door open and leave it like that all night, so that all those poor people forced to sell themselves to survive can have a safe place to stay.

She isn't sure when she's become so involved with Allie that the thought of the blonde spending a night in the streets makes her want to pull every hair off her head, but she doesn't care. Sure, Allie's probably an expert at surviving outside, but Bea cannot associate the streets with the concept of safety, no matter how hard she tries.

And she will be damned if she leaves Allie alone again, she thinks as she roughly kicks a poor rock that had the unfortunate luck to be lying on the ground in front of her foot. She will be damned if she doesn't go with her and help her, and care for her until the sunrise.

She thinks that if she had her own place, this would not be happening right now. All she'd need to do would be to invite Allie over, to give her a roof over her head and a warm bed to sleep in. She groans, remembering that the two apartments she's visited so far were awful.

"What now?" Allie asks when the shelter is no longer in sight. She's walking towards empty streets, making sure to avoid the districts she knows are trouble. She'll guide Bea safely or she'll never forgive herself. "I'd invite you at my place, but… you know. Are you sure you don't want to go back? I can take care of myself, you don't have to stay with me."

She feels bad for making Bea go this far. She knew Vera would never accept to let her in again, so why hadn't she stopped Bea before this stupid compromise was made? Now, all she can think about is that she's robbed Bea of a good night of sleep.

"Yeah, because that worked out so well last time," Bea points out, gently, but firmly. "I'm not letting you out of my sight, at least for tonight. Let's go to your place."

The silence lasts the length of a single heartbeat.

"Unless you want to be left alone?"

"No, of course, I'd love to spend the night with you," Allie exhales slowly.

She'd love nothing more. In fact, it's pretty much all she's been wishing for in the past days. She just wishes she could offer more than a dirty cardboard on the ground.

"I don't have enough to pay for a motel or anything. Are you sure you're fine with sleeping on the ground?" she continues hesitantly.

It seems like a ridiculous offer and for the first time in years, Allie feels ashamed of her situation. Truly, heartbreakingly ashamed that this is where she ended up. Fuck whatever feelings are blooming in her heart whenever she sees Bea.

Bea deserves more than that. More than her.

And fuck the drugs and the withdrawals for making her feel miserable and drowning in doubts. She's never felt so small and empty like she does right now, and a small part of her is relieved that Bea has decided to stay with her for the night.

Because she knows she might have found that white cure again. That white powder that she still stubbornly associates with pleasure when it has ruined her life countless times.

"Are you even going to be able to sleep?" Allie chokes on her words.

Bea's never slept on the ground before. She's never even gone camping. She's used to huge mattresses and fluffy blankets that keep her warm. She's always been stuck between four walls and a roof. Sleeping outside in an alley had never crossed her mind, and it still doesn't sound very appealing today.

"It might sound crazy, but what if we don't sleep?" Bea offers, a shadow of a smile on her face. "We could just stay up all night."

"What, and go clubbing and make fools of ourselves like teenagers?" Allie answers sarcastically.

"I never said that, but if you're up for it, I know a place."

"A place," Allie echoes, a puzzled look on her face. "At this time? It's nearly one in the morning."

Bea nods confidently, secret well kept in her mind. The more she thinks about it, the more excited she gets.

"You sure?" Allie narrows her eyes. "Is it a hotel? Are you secretly trying to get into my pants? I promise you, you don't have to try so hard, you can have me right here, right now."

Bea rolls her eyes when Allie smiles innocently at her.

"Geez Bea, you could at least pretend like you want a piece of that," Allie deadpans, acting like she's offended.

Bea thinks that if she rolls her eyes farther, she might lose them in the back of her skull.

"It's just a place. You scared?" she asks mysteriously.

The laugh that comes out of Allie's throat is anything but scared. It's intrigued.

"Never, certainly not of you," Allie smirks.

Bea stops abruptly. She pulls at Allie's arm in a fluid motion and brings the blonde so close that their noses brush against each other. Allie's breath catches in her throat and Bea's lips are just millimeters away from hers.

"You should be," Bea teases, letting the words dangerously linger between them before she walks away, not giving Allie the chance to answer.

Allie stares at Bea's silhouette, lips parted and eyes blinking rapidly as she tries to control the rhythm of her heartbeat. She's vaguely confused. She's vaguely amused.

She'd love to pin Bea against the nearest wall and kiss her senseless.

She runs after Bea and takes her hand softly. Bea's eyes lock on hers in a magnetizing way.

"Should I?" Allie murmurs, breaking the distance between them once again. The warmth of Bea's breath caresses her lips and only makes her ache for more. She's so close to taste her.

Bea is shaking in her arms and it's enough to tame Allie's wildest cravings.

"I'm not scared," Allie smiles gently.

 _But you still are._

She inhales deeply and takes a step back.

They don't say another word until they reach their destination.

* * *

Bea holds the door open and waits for Allie to enter first.

They walked for nearly thirty minutes, only to arrive at the intersection of two busy streets. The 24h diner is full of white neon lights that blind the two women for a few seconds. Old-fashioned decorations are lined up on the wall, and a song from INXS is playing from the speakers. A television is replaying old tv ads from the same decades. It feels like stepping straight into the early nineties.

"Bea Smith, did you just make me travel back in time?" Allie takes in her surroundings. She might as well be fresh out of high school again, hanging out with some friends and experimenting with all that is forbidden. "This is great!"

They sit at a table and order something to drink while they analyze the menu. It's surprisingly cheap, as if the place and the prices themselves had been frozen in time, immune from inflation. They order a few items and keep more choices for later.

The peaceful atmosphere immediately calms Allie. Here, she feels like there are no expectations. There's no judgment to be found and no assumptions to be made, for this place can't be touched by the present and all its imperfections. It helps that they are the only ones around at this time. Some customers come to grab orders, but they all rush to go back to the twenty-first century, as if travelling back in time wasn't impressive enough to keep their worries away.

"How long has this been open?" Allie asks, her eyes dancing around the room. "I feel like I've walked in front of it so many times without ever noticing it."

"I don't know. I just found out about it recently too," Bea shares while they wait for their food to arrive. "I walked in one night, when I couldn't be at home. I felt like I could be safe here. I've been here many times, but I never told anyone about it."

Here, she can pretend that nothing is happening outside of this diner. She can pretend that this is the last place standing on Earth. She can pretend that the only thing left to do is to enjoy the sweetest drinks and the warmest meals.

"Shit," Allie swallows the lump in her throat when she realizes the implications of Bea's words. "You've stayed here all night before? Because you didn't want go back to your place?"

Bea nods. All night. All day. It didn't matter, as long as Harry never joined her, as long as he and his drinks and his kicks stayed in the outside world, far away from her.

It's her safe place, and she feels even safer with Allie facing her.

"Thank you for showing me this place."

"There's no need to be so formal," Bea chuckles, trying to diminish the awkwardness she feels creeping up in her body. "I just thought it'd be better than staying outside."

"I'm serious, thank you. It's a part of you. I love it," Allie insists, unaware that her words send the butterflies in Bea's stomach flying all around her body.

Allie is starting to think that she might just love all parts of Bea, but she keeps that information to herself.

Bea is starting to think that the butterflies are just going to keep multiplying, so she might as well just accept them and learn to live with them.

Both women are starting to think that they've lived in the State of Denial for too long already, but neither wants to be the first one to cross the border to another realm.

"Alright, no more talking about that," Allie suggests when she notices Bea getting lost in herself. She tilts her head just enough for Bea to find her adorable, and then she leans forward, whispering in secrecy. "You don't know him."

Bea stares back, confused. She glances around, wondering if she's missed someone walking in the diner.

"It's a time machine, remember? Here, you never met him. In fact, you met me instead and we're having our first date. Talk about an upgrade," Allie winks, gesturing to herself. "Clearly."

Bea bites the inside of her cheek, thinking that Allie has never been closer to the truth.

She wonders how different her life would have been if she'd met Allie instead of him.

She shrugs mentally. She doesn't want to think too much about it because Debbie was born out of her relationship, and as terrible as Harry was, she'll never regret giving birth the most beautiful little girl she could have ever wished for.

"We're seventeen years old, we're fearless, and unbreakable. We told our parents we were just friends, but we're liars too, obviously. But it's fine because this is our world, and we make our own rules."

Bea lights up at Allie's words, wondering just how Allie can read her mind perfectly, once again.

"I—I don't know…"

She has spent a lot of time pretending she was lost in an unreachable past, but the moment Allie joins her in this foreign land, Bea can't find a single word to say.

"I asked you out," Allie laughs, carefully building the alternate reality. "And you suggested this place, and here we are. Now all that's left to do is learn to know each other. Have a proper first date and all. So, seventeen years old Bea, what's on your mind?"

Right this moment, Bea thinks she's exhausted, and that they have a long night ahead, but that she's never been happier to spend it with the one Allie Novak.

Seventeen years old Bea would have been nervous, fumbling with her words and maybe just confident enough to look into Allie's eyes and flirt her way inside her heart.

"I'm thinking that I feel lucky to be with you," she says.

Being on a date with Allie sounds like winning the lottery when she only has a dollar left in her bank account.

"I'm the lucky one," Allie whistles when two giant glasses are brought to their table. She turns her blue eyes on Bea. "Those are the biggest milkshakes I've ever seen. You sure know where to go to win my heart."

Seventeen years old Allie would have looked at Bea the same way she does right now.

Like Bea is the one she wants to spend her life with.

It scares her, but not enough to prevent her from racing towards the finish line and hope that Bea will cross it with her.

Allie takes a sip and moans at the heavenly taste, and Bea stares, and stares, and stares until her eyes hurt and the urge to blink overcomes her. She can't stop thinking of the way it would feel to hear that sound in less innocent circumstances.

She has no idea where this thought comes from, but she can't make it go away. She tastes her own drink and wishes that the cold liquid will calm her nerves once and for all. Seventeen years old Bea wasn't into sex. She certainly isn't today either.

"What were you into, at seventeen? Before all this…" Allie gestures in the air, directing the conversation to a subject she hopes is far enough from Bea's current worries.

"I don't know," Bea frowns. "What were you into?"

"I was into you," Allie's raspy voice, laced with arousal, is barely audible. "Obviously."

Bea chokes on her drink and nearly knocks her glass over in an attempt to regain control on the situation. She clears her throat once, and then again because the first time wasn't enough.

"Don't act so surprised," Allie grins, "I did ask you out after all."

"Were you that much of a flirt when you were younger?"

"Why? Are you jealous?" Allie bites her lower lip. "You have nothing to be jealous of."

"I'm not! I had a fair amount of dates when I was young." Bea remembers that none of them had lead to successful long-term relationships, but it isn't important for Allie to know.

"Did you?"

Allie wants to smack herself in the face. Of course, Bea did. She probably looked just as spectacular as she does today. She probably had guys and girls lined up, ready to date her. She probably had to break a few hearts now and then.

Allie feels ridiculous, being jealous of all those strangers when years have passed and when it clearly couldn't matter less.

"Yeah," Bea plays with the straw in her glass. It twirls and makes a small whirlpool, and she's fascinated with the tiny bubbles that appear on the surface. "Some were terrible, but some weren't that bad."

"But I'm the best?" Allie asks cleverly, clearly enjoying this conversation. "The one that you'll remember forever even if we lose track of each other and you end up in some boring marriage? The one that won't compare to anyone else? The lost high school sweetheart? The one all the sappy romantic movies are about? The one you'll remember when death comes to get you?"

"The date isn't over yet," Bea replies, chuckling lightly at the tragedy in Allie's words. "You've got to impress me a bit more."

Allie gasps, mockingly pouting.

"You just wait."

She doesn't have much to offer, but she'll give it all to Bea in the blink of an eye. She'll jump through hoops on fires and dance on a string hanging over a cliff if that's what it takes.

"I'm kidding, Allie. Of course, you're the best," Bea smiles. "You keep me company at this time and you don't try to make fun of my weird taste in diners."

"Do you remember when making fun of someone was the way to let them know you liked them?"

"Ugh," Bea rolls her eyes. "Don't remind me. How did we ever think that would work?"

All she remembers is having a crush on a boy in elementary school. Her first crush, as far as she can remember. She'd pretended not to care, and it had worked so much that he hadn't known she existed until the very last day of school. He'd danced with another girl at a silly school event, and she remembers she'd cried in the bathroom over a boy she had barely talked to all year.

"I don't know," Allie shrugs.

She could never make fun of Bea, even if she were forced to. In the spur of the moment, she blurts out:

"I would have probably said something along the lines of… 'I can only breathe properly when you're around me. How dare you?'"

 _How dare you make me feel so empty every time you look away?_

 _How dare you steal my heart in the dark of night when no one is there to warn me?_

 _How dare you make me fall in love with you when you're not ready to catch me?_

"That's a bit too much for a first date, don't you think?" Bea voices slowly, her heart aching silently in her chest.

She wonders what her reaction would have been.

To laugh at those words and to pretend they never happened? To worship them?

To swoon under Allie's stare, or to think that this is happening too fast and seek a way out?

"Well, I'm thinking you might have looked down, but you would have stayed," Allie replies.

"You're awfully confident in yourself."

"Tell me I'm wrong then. Go on."

Bea defies Allie's stare for a moment, wanting so badly to say the words, but finding herself unable to lie. She would have stayed, and they both know it. She would have stayed for the second, third, and all the future dates. There isn't a doubt about it.

They steal smiles from each other as they drink in silence for a few minutes. Bea orders a plate of hot chips to share, and Allie adds a few waffles and pastries because _why not,_ there's no rules in this world _._ The second the waiter turns around, Allie calls him again to add tea to the list.

Time between midnight and the sunrise is part of a whole different universe.

"You know what's a thing I did when I was young?" Allie twirls a fuming chip between her fingers, the way someone would a cigarette. She wiggles her brows and waits for Bea to answer, an impatient smile on her lips.

"What?"

Bea jumps a meter in the air when she receives the chip right in the face, like a projectile shot out of nowhere.

"This," Allie smiles victoriously.

"Really? That's how you want to impress me?" Bea blinks.

"You should know that I threw it exactly between your eyes," Allie retorts proudly. "Not everyone can do that. That's my hidden talent."

"I am beyond impressed at your useless ability to throw food between my eyes. Did that make you popular back then?"

"Why, thanks! Years of practice," Allie winks, and Bea wraps herself in Allie's crazy world, and she never wants to leave. "It got me through a few food fights, but no dates, sadly. Until you. You were mad enough to accept my invitation and here we are!"

Bea can't fight the smile that is born on her lips. There's no denying Allie's charm.

"How did we meet?" Bea asks.

"You tell me," Allie encourages Bea to participate in this little castle of fantasy.

Bea looks in the air as if the answer would materialize before her eyes.

"You met me at the beginning of the year. I was walking to class and you were coming from the opposite way. You were so stunned by me that you walked into a locker."

"Bea!" Allie gasps, eyes glittering with joy.

"You spied on me for a full week before you gathered the courage to ask me out," she declares. "You were nervous because I had all those people at my feet, and you didn't think you could handle rejection. One day, you were sitting two tables away from me, and you threw a chip at an annoying boy who wouldn't leave me alone, and when I smiled at you, you asked me out. I said yes, because you didn't leave me enough time to think of a reason to refuse."

Allie grins so wide that her cheeks hurt, and she thinks she might look like the Cheshire cat.

"Who's awfully confident now?"

"You," Bea answers without hesitation.

Allie nods, accepting everything Bea tells her.

"Alright, no more wasting food. What was your secret talent?" Allie asks.

Bea is brought back to her room in college, to a vision she'd forgotten until now.

A room full of canvas and notebooks, and pen and pencils spread all over the floor. A room full of colors and shapes and raging imagination. A room with walls covered with sheets of paper from the floor to the ceiling.

A floor stained with paint and ink. A ceiling decorated with stars that she'd created herself.

A book full of drawings and sketches and random ideas. A book full of precious memories, of immortal times and of infinite love.

A hundred words in a single line. A thousand dreams in a single curve. A million wishes in a single color.

"I drew," Bea's eyes flash with a mix of joy and sorrow when she remembers the fate of her late drawing notebook. "I could draw for hours and never get tired of it. People, landscapes, animals, objects, they were all fascinating."

It feels like a decade since she's held a pen and sat to create peacefully. She longs for those times when all she had was a darkened room and a mountain of papers to fill with exquisite drawings.

Years ago, she'd owned a blank canvas, and she'd worried about pressing her pen too hard on it.

Weeks ago, she'd stared at her skin, and she'd worried about pressing her knife too deep in it.

She wishes some things had never changed.

"I loved it," Bea dismisses the thought by shaking her head slowly. "I love drawing. I couldn't afford a camera, so it was my way of keeping time still. We all have to be creative sometimes."

Allie's eyes shine like prized sapphires at the confession.

"That sounds amazing," she declares in awe. "I couldn't draw a figure stick for my life. What was your favorite thing to draw?"

"My lovers, duh," she says as Allie's mouth forms a perfect 'O'. "They would all line up in the hopes of being chosen for one of my canvas. So many of them…"

Bea whistles as she pulls her glass closer to her and takes a sip. Allie's face is priceless, and Bea would, indeed, very much like to immortalize it in a drawing.

"Bit of a player, I can deal with that," Allie exhales, making tremendous efforts to control her emotions. She can only imagine the struggle to stay still while Bea's eyes would travel on her body, memorizing every line and every curve. She can only imagine the unbearable amount of sexual tension. She'd snap in half before Bea could finish anything. "Do you still do that, the drawing?"

"No, I- I stopped. It was just a waste of time."

Allie frowns, startled by Bea's words. From the way Bea spoke about it, Allie had figured it was anything but a waste of time.

"You don't mean that."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

It really doesn't.

"What happened?"

Allie doesn't need an answer. She knows, and she braces herself for the way she knows her heart will be squeezed too hard in her chest.

"Harry took my drawings. He had some rough day and he just… He said I didn't give him the attention he deserved, and he set them on fire."

"All of them?"

Bea nods, the memory still engraved in her mind and smell of the burnt paper still floating in the air around her. She'd lost so much that evening. Everything she'd worked on for years, and all because Harry had wanted her to look at him. He'd forced her to watch until every sheet had turned to ashes.

"What a stupid dick!" Allie shouts.

"I should have just given him attention," Bea replies nonchalantly.

If only she'd looked at him, this could have been prevented.

It's all her fault, really.

She hadn't bought a new drawing set ever since.

"I'm sure you gave him plenty of attention," Allie shoots back, daggers in her eyes directed at a man she doesn't know. "He just never had enough to satisfy his stupid ego."

Bea doesn't answer. It doesn't matter anymore. Her drawings are gone, but so is she, from this horrific house.

"When did you meet him?" Allie hopes she isn't going to ruin the night. She would hate herself if she did, but she wants to know. She barely knows anything about this man, about his story, about Bea's life with him.

She feels like it's something too important to ignore.

"When I was seventeen actually. Just a bit before I turned eighteen," Bea confesses, sorrows in her eyes. "He asked me out, I said yes. He was nice to me at first."

Real seventeen years old Bea had had no idea what was going to happen. She'd only accepted to go on a date with this mysterious guy who'd flirted with her at school. He had been charming as hell, and he had made her laugh with his quirky remarks.

"Our first date was at a circus. He had tickets to see this famous show everyone talked about and I just couldn't say no. He made me smile all night. I felt really good with him."

She still remembers that night. The impressive choreographies of the many artists, the mind-blowing tricks, the way the whole audience had clapped at the end of the show. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy, and the music, so loud but so catchy.

There had been no Allie to sweep her off her feet, no Allie to change her destiny, no Allie for her to fall for instead.

"Hey," Allie gently calls. "He's not here anymore."

"What about you? Where were you at seventeen?"

Allie shrugs and glances down to her pile of waffles. She stabs them with her fork and tastes them. They're delicious, but they're cold now. She tries one of the pastries she ordered. Much better. It tastes like the past never happened.

Real seventeen years old Allie had just started selling herself to strangers. She had just taken her first line of cocaine, and she had been oblivious to the fact that merely a month later, she'd be addicted to heroin.

There had been no Bea to ask out on a date, only fallen bills on the floor of a dirty motel.

"Here and there. Physically and mentally."

Bea inhales deeply and places her hand on top of Allie's.

"Not anymore. Now, you're here instead."

She's not the only one who needs this moment. She's not the only one who needs to go back in the past and fix things. She's not the only one who wishes she could tell her younger self that it'll be okay in the end, that no matter what she goes through, she'll find someone eventually. Someone who will turn her world upside-down and make her believe that her entrance into adulthood could have been different.

Allie needs it just as much. Maybe even more.

But it's not a competition, it has never been, and right now, they just exist together, in this place where the past can be written again.

"I would have asked you out if I'd met you at seventeen," Allie remarks.

"Really?"

"Why not? I had nothing to lose. And I'm sure you were… hot," Allie shushes the last word like it's a secret.

And really, it's not a secret. Allie's done anything but hide her attraction to Bea since the second she landed her eyes on the redhead.

It's increasing every second she spends with Bea.

Bea just gets her. She just knows the right things to say to ease Allie's pain. She _sees_ her. It's insane, and it scares her, but she would rather perish than walk away.

"I bet you were good looking too…"

Bea pauses dramatically, peaking in direction of the window when she notices the sun rising in the far horizon.

"Too bad you've lost it."

Allie stands up so fast that she knocks an empty plate down. It shatters on the floor, but the shocked smile she has printed on her face doesn't falter.

"Bea Smith, take back those words! You were staring at me just hours ago! Like, really staring at me!" Allie nearly cries in the diner, an accusing finger pointed at the other woman. "Unless you want me to throw a waffle at you!"

"You wouldn't dare…"

Allie smirks and quickly cuts a piece of waffle before throwing it at Bea, whose laugh rings louder than any other sound.

"You missed."

"I missed on purpose. Unless you want to have syrup all over your hair?"

Bea plays with her curls for a second.

"Would I still be hot if I were bald? Be honest."

Allie bites her lips to prevent the laughs from escaping her mouth. She looks up, wondering just how in the world she's managed to find someone like Bea Smith. And really, it doesn't matter how, or what, or why. All that matters is that she's never felt better.

"I have an idea!" Allie walks to the counter and grabs a fistful of white napkins. She drops them in front of Bea and magically pulls a pencil out of her pocket. "Would you like to draw me something?"

The air turns cold and the bubble they are trapped in suddenly explodes.

Bea's jaw stiffens suddenly and sweat makes her shiver underneath her shirt. She looks at the napkins like they're going to jump off the table and attack her at any moment. She looks at them like they're going to set themselves on fire and burn the entire place down within minutes. A feeling of terror sneaks inside her belly and she's unable to move, unable to react, unable to look at Allie's hopeful eyes.

It feels like she's forgotten how to write, how to draw, how to hold a pencil.

All she can think about are the flames, the yellow, angry flames eating her art alive. Destroying everything.

She hates that she still hasn't gained back control on all aspects of her life. She hates that he still owns parts of her.

"Or not, you don't have to."

Allie's voice is like a vessel from outer space coming to rescue her.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I can't." Bea stutters. "I wouldn't know what to draw or how to do it."

"It's fine, no worries," Allie repeats, soft eyes easing Bea back to this timeless dinner. "I got a bit excited here, but really, you don't have to."

Like she wants to prove her point, Allie turns the napkins around to her direction, and starts doodling on them, creating the cutest stick figures Bea has ever seen. Allie concentrates on the drawing like she's a great painter from the Renaissance era, and Bea breathes a little easier.

Allie takes more time than she usually would, noticing the calming effect her actions have on Bea. She'd never wanted to trigger Bea, and she's willing to fix this to the best of her capacity. She's Allie freaking Novak and she won't leave this place until Bea feels better again, until their first fictional date is a success.

Their first fake date that awfully feels like a real one.

She really fucking wishes it could be a real one.

"So, obviously, I have the longest hair, since you're bald," she explains. She smiles absently, adding a few lines to illustrate her blonde hair. Bea's figure remains hairless. "And there's chips on the floor and waffles stuck on the wall because I suck at throwing them in your direction apparently. There's a few empty glasses on the table. There's a broken plate on the floor because whoever works here isn't doing their job fast enough. Understandable, considering the time, but still."

She draws all the little details meticulously, adding a few elements from the diner too, and soon enough, Bea is staring at a childish replica of their night.

"So, there's only one thing missing," Allie looks up for a second before she drags the pen on the napkin again, writing a few words in an elegant way.

 _Memories of our first date._

"It doesn't look perfect, but still," Allie chuckles, handling the drawing to Bea. "Do you want to keep it? Or should I say, does seventeen years old Bea want to keep it?"

Seventeen years old.

She's giving Bea an escape.

If Bea takes it as her seventeen years old self, then the whole night will belong to the past.

It will be a fantasy, a dream that they've stumbled onto for tonight. It will be a scene from a movie that was never released. It will be a song that was never recorded. It will be a book that was never written. It will be an alternate reality in which they never belonged. It will be a distant story that weren't theirs to begin with.

It won't have to mean anything in the present.

But if Bea breaks the spell, if Bea takes it as her present self, it could be more.

It could be their first date, the one they should have had years ago, but only just had now.

It could be a chance to change history, so they can have their happy ending.

Bea stills, eyes glued to the drawing. It's perfect in its own way.

"The best first date?" she whispers to herself.

The best first date, away from the world's prying eyes. Just like Allie had promised her.

"Do you want it to be?" Allie looks at her like she might shatter in a million pieces, no matter what the answer is.

It's not Bea's voice that breaks her.

It's Bea's brutally loud ringtone. It makes Allie flinch so hard that she hits her knee against the table and winces in pain. She kicks the shock away quickly when she notices the sudden paleness of Bea's skin.

"It's Debbie," Bea frowns.

It's always been Bea calling Debbie, never the opposite.

* * *

Maxine throws up the contents of her empty stomach, once again. The acidic taste is all it takes for her to vomit a second time and she curses chemo, and cancer, and her ill body. She clutches the toilet like it's her only anchor in this stormy night. She closes her eyes and tries desperately to control the nausea, and it's the hardest thing to do. The waves of sickness crashes into her and she hopes that the low tide isn't too far away.

Some nights are worse than others, but recently, they've all been pretty fucking horrible.

The cancer isn't just in her breasts anymore. It's invading her mind too. It's that thing she can't get out of her head no matter how hard she tries to distract herself. It's that ghost that haunts her dream and makes her nightmare a thousand times worse. It's that shadow that follows her everywhere and forces her to do things she doesn't want to do. It's that thief that comes to take away everything she has and everything she is.

That heartless, cruel, tyrannous thief.

A thief that refuses to leave her no matter how many bullets she fires at them.

There's a knock on the door and she's too sick to answer. If she opens her mouth, she might as well give up the war and throw up her guts again, so she remains immobile, lips turning white from how hard she presses them together. She can't get up. She can only hope that whoever it is will leave her alone. This bathroom is her new kingdom. She rules it with a weakened body and a tired soul, but she still governs.

The kingdom of a fallen goddess.

"Hey Maxie, you alright?" Boomer's voice peeks from the other side.

Usually, Maxine would be delighted to hear her friend's voice, but not tonight. She's spared Boomer from seeing her like this for as long as she can and it'd be a shame to ruin it all now.

"I'm coming in, yeah?" Boomer pushes the door open and Maxine groans when she realizes she's been in such a hurry to hug the toilet that she forgot to lock it.

"I'm alright, love," Maxine smiles gently, the hurt flashing in her eyes in-between her signature softness.

"Nah, you're not," Boomer frowns. "I'm not blind."

"Well, there's nothing you can do here, go back to sleep," Maxine argues, her head back down. Her eyes fixate on the water in the toilet. Every time a drop of saliva falls through it, it breaks the stillness of the surface. It hypnotizes her and gives her something to focus on. "I'm almost done."

Boomer stares worryingly at how thin Maxine has become. It's scary to think that beneath those clothes, there's probably just skin and bones. It's scary to think about all the chemicals Maxine now has in her veins, spoiling the healthy blood.

She remembers the first time she'd met Maxine. She'd been a bitch to her. She'd called her names and insulted her. She hadn't taken her seriously. She'd refused to see the woman standing in front of her.

And then Maxine had defended her against some of the other women in the house, and Boomer had felt guilty for weeks.

"You need to wake me up when that happens," Boomer raises her voice. "Now that Franky's gone, I can help you."

"Please, Booms, the only thing I need right now is silence and a good night of sleep. I'll still be with you in the morning, we can talk then," Maxine replies, as nicely as she can.

She doesn't want to hurt Boomer's feelings, but her head is killing her, and if she hears anything more, she might bite harder than she means to.

It breaks her heart to tell Boomer to go away.

"But- I'm awake," Boomer pleads, a confused smile on her face, unable to understand Maxine's rejection. "I can do things. I'm not leaving you and you're not… you're not leaving me."

Suddenly, she feels useless and alone, just like she did before she came to the shelter. She wants to help so badly, because if she doesn't help, if Maxine dies, she won't survive. She won't forgive herself. She won't move on, ever, from this moment where she could have been there.

"Booms, tomorrow," Maxine repeats, stronger this time, her voice steady and commanding.

She looks up from the toilet, only for her eyes to be met with Boomer's figure rushing outside the bathroom, slamming the door.

Finally, she thinks. It's better when she's alone, when she can wince from the pain without having to restrain herself. She sighs loudly and ignores the sweat rolling all around her face. She can tolerate her body betraying itself, and she can take the pain, but she can't bear the thought of having to put her loved ones through the same ache.

She leaves the bathroom a full hour later, feeling ashamed from pushing Boomer away because, really, they've both found an unexpected friendship here, and Boomer is brave enough to stay by her side in this unfair battle.

She walks in her room and stills. She tears up at the sight and even the darkness can't hide the way she shakes her head in disbelief. Of course. She should have known.

Boomer's mattress is here on the floor, as are her pillow and covers. Boomer is sitting on it, fiddling with her hands. She looks up when Maxine enters and sends a small, hesitant smile in her direction.

"I asked if I could stay here tonight," she says, daring Maxine to kick her out. "I don't know what's up Vera's ass, but she agreed. Said something about helping others when they need us. Who cares anyway, she said it's fine."

Maxine sits on her bed and directs her gaze to Boomer. She's exhausted, but she's happy. She's actually happy, even though she feels like gravity is pulling her apart.

"If you kick me out," Boomer states convincingly, "I'll call Franky, and then she'll kick you out! So don't try, alright?"

"And then we'll both be homeless?" Maxine asks slowly. "That's your plan?"

"We'll be together at least!"

Maxine can't argue with that and takes Boomer's hand in hers. She gives it a hard squeeze and nods, a newfound fire in her eyes.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you, love."

Maxine shrugs and smiles like it's all forgiven. She knows it isn't Maxine's fault. They both never asked to be in this situation.

They lie down, but they don't let go of each other. Maxine coughs and clears her throat, the pain in her chest growing exponentially, and Boomer, forever alert, jumps next to her and offers her water from a bottle she stole from the kitchen.

"You're gonna be alright, eh?" Boomer's shaking voice asks.

Maxine doesn't answer. She can't.

They hold each other's hand silently until sleep pities them and takes the pain away from them.

When they wake up, eyes confused and lost in time and space, Maxine knows she can't hide the truth anymore.

"I need to tell you something."

* * *

"Why is she back earlier?" Allie asks when the taxi reaches the airport. "Did she tell you?"

"Do I look like I know the reason?" Bea frantically throws money at the driver before she exits the car and almost gets run over by another one. "Get out of my face before I hurt ya!" she yells at the unknown car.

"Woah, slow down there!" Allie grabs Bea's arm, leading her inside the airport and towards the arrivals gate. "You'll get yourself killed before you reach Debbie."

"Don't tell me what to do! Why are you even here, I never asked you to come with me!"

Allie chuckles, surprised to hear such words coming from Bea. She stops, forcing Bea to stand before her and look her in the eyes. She places her hands on top of Bea's shoulders and her thumbs gently stroke the other woman.

"I get that you're nervous, I really do, okay? But if you don't relax right now, your daughter's gonna run away from you because you sound like you're about to murder someone."

Bea is a bomb about to go off. She melts in Allie's subtle touch.

"You're right, sorry," she admits. "I'm glad you're here. I appreciate it."

She's sleep deprived, her mind still clouded with the way this whole night turned out, and a ginormous amount of adrenaline is being pumped through her body. She's on high alert after her daughter called her to let her know she's landed back in Australia. Debbie wasn't supposed to be here yet.

Not only is Bea not ready to welcome her again, she's also extremely worried for her.

It's not like Debbie to cancel plans or change them, especially not without consulting her mother first. And flying from one continent to another before schedule is a big decision, especially knowing that Debbie had already bought her plane tickets for next week.

"Alright, now let's go, she's waiting!" Allie smiles widely, encouraging Bea to follow her when she starts running.

Bea quickly races to the arrivals gate, passing by Allie and taking her hand on the way. She's dragging a breathless Allie behind her, avoiding obstacles and dodging unfortunate strangers that happen to be on her way. Thankfully, it's so early that the place isn't crowded, and Bea can save herself from a few unwelcomed collisions. She abruptly turns one last corner before her eyes finds her daughter's silhouette, standing nervously a few meters away, a suitcase behind her.

"Debbie!" she gasps, unable to believe that her daughter is standing in front of her, alive and well.

She reaches her daughter hastily and pulls her in a tight hug, kissing the top of her head and burying her face in Debbie's hair. She holds her like this for a long time, trying not to cry when Debbie reciprocates the embrace. She whispers sweet words in Debbie's ear, small promises that she wishes she'd said before, when they last said goodbye to each other.

Time stands still as they reacquaint with each other again.

Allie stares lovingly at the pair, keeping her distance even when Bea tears herself apart from Debbie's clinging arms to look at her with bright, wet eyes.

"Let me look at you… did you grow up?" Bea shakes her head in disbelief, a proud smile on her face. She lets her hands travel up and down Debbie's arms, like she's afraid her daughter might disappear if she stops touching her.

"Mom, I stopped growing up like, three years ago," Debbie grins. "I wasn't gone for that long."

"Oh, it certainly felt like it," Bea confesses. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? You weren't supposed to be back until next week, for your vacations."

She scans Debbie's features, every inch of skin she can find, but she finds nothing wrong.

"I know," Debbie passes a hand in her hair, "I'm good, I just changed my mind. I'll tell you all about it later? I've been here for hours and I really just want a hot shower."

"Of course," Bea smiles, panic in her mind when she realizes she might not be able to bring Debbie to the shelter so soon.

She takes a deep breath. She can think about it later, when they're not standing in this foreign environment. She waves for Allie to come closer, and when Allie gestures a quick hello at Debbie, Bea introduces them.

"This is Allie. She was with me when you called and offered to keep me company. I was a bit nervous to come here alone."

Nervous is a huge understatement, but Allie is kind enough not to point it out.

"She was with you?" Debbie asks amusedly, her eyes sliding from her mother to the blonde woman. "At five in the morning? What were you doing?"

Allie grins and gently elbows Bea's side.

"You were right, she _is_ smart," Allie glows.

Bea shakes her head and pretends she can't hear a word, but a pink shade appears on her cheeks and betrays her.

"Nice to meet you," Debbie nods in Allie's direction.

Allie smiles down at her, the story of the snails' hotel playing in the back of her mind. The resemblance between Bea and Debbie strikes her even more now that they are both standing before her.

The group starts walking in the direction of the exit, Bea and Debbie leading the way while Allie is comfortable following them from behind.

Allie listens absently to the various questions Bea throws at Debbie, but she doesn't pay enough attention to hear the answers. In fact, she doesn't really want to spy on them. She forces herself to look around, to focus on foreign sounds and to direct her attention towards anything, but them.

Until she hears something.

It's small, so subtle that Allie thinks she's having an hallucination at first, but it's there.

Debbie's voice shakes and speeds up when she speaks. The tone of her voice spikes and falls in the same sentence, as if her euphoric feelings could not be controlled.

Allie blames it on Debbie's excitement to reunite with her mother.

Until she hears it again, and again, and then she blames it on Debbie's lack of sleep and on jet lag.

But then, she notices the way the words make perfect sense when they come out of Debbie's mouth. They made perfect sense, but they are wrapped in a blurred pronunciation and a broken elocution.

She tells herself that it's impossible, so she pays attention to the way Debbie walks.

Debbie walks in a perfectly normal way, but Allie's eyes find the small tremors that jolt through Debbie's feet every two steps.

She knows everything there is to know about the thin line between what is considered _normal_ behavior and _erratic_ behavior caused by drugs. She used to practice, in front of a mirror, how to act as normal as she could when she was under the influence of narcotics. She knows what signs to look for when someone is trying to pass as sober.

She knows what to focus on, so she searches for more signs.

She freezes when she finds them.

The way Debbie's eyes move restlessly from her mom, to the ceiling, to the ground, to every other corner of the hall.

The way Debbie's hands shake almost invisibly by her side when she walks.

The way Debbie seems to be hyperalert of her surroundings, reacting every time someone walks a little too close to her or every time a new message resonates through the speakers.

It might be invisible to Bea, but Allie freezes.

 _Fuck._

* * *

Vera is watching a video about the subtleties of arranged and forced marriages when she hears a door slams loudly.

She glances at the time. It's too early for anyone to be awake.

She gets up and stares at the hallway for few seconds.

It's completely empty.

She thinks she hears someone crying in Boomer's room.

* * *

 **Do you guys remember the storyline with Debbie in S1? I'm not saying it will happen again... but being inspired from it was inevitable.**


	8. Some truths we wish we could hide

**Chapter's title comes from "South" by Sleeping at Last.**

 **This chapter was a pain to write and hopefully, it won't be a pain to read...**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Some truths we wish we could hide**

The events of the night are quickly forgotten once they leave the airport. There's no more time machine and no more games about being young and reckless and possibly in love. There's no more whispered secrets and unseen touches. There's no more fake first date that feels a little too real. Instead, there's only this flawed reality, and the sudden, unexpected return of Debbie in her mother's arms.

The trio parts ways when the taxi leaves them in the quiet street facing Wentworth. Bea heads back to the shelter, her mind set on trying to convince whoever she meets first that they let her daughter stay with her for the week. She takes Debbie's luggage with her and asks her daughter to be patient.

Debbie claims that she'll stop by to surprise her friends before she comes back to Wentworth, so Bea has time to talk with someone.

Allie simply goes her own way, promising Bea to meet her later when all will be settled. She looks into Bea's eyes for too long, somehow trying to keep the night alive and to offer her a proper goodbye. She waits until Bea turns around and starts climbing the stairs to the door to blow her an imaginary kiss because really, that is all that is missing to complete the perfect date.

She doesn't mention her suspicions. It's too early for that, and she is certain that Bea would never listen to her. In fact, she's pretty sure Bea would laugh in her face and call her delusional.

She waits until Bea is safe inside the shelter before she rushes in the direction Debbie has taken. She doesn't see Debbie anywhere, and her plan to spy on the younger woman suddenly doesn't seem much possible. She frowns and takes a chance by heading toward an animated street.

She mentally congratulates herself when she sees Debbie's silhouette walking a few meters away from her. She rushes to catch up and stops herself just in time, so she doesn't get too close to the younger woman. If she gets caught, she has a feeling she'll be in a shitload of trouble with both Debbie and her mother.

Frankly, she isn't sure what she's doing. She might be making a mistake. She might be worried for Debbie for no valid reason. After all, she's only just met Debbie, and her first instinct isn't infallible. She might be running to her death too, since she has no idea where the hell she's going. Still, she can't help but see herself in Debbie.

A child with a brilliant potential that's being wasted on drugs.

She doesn't know Debbie's full story, and maybe she never will, but with the things she knows, she wants to make sure Debbie is truly going to see her friends.

And maybe she's crossing a line. Maybe she's crossing many lines, but she figures it's too late to go back anyway.

She walks faster when she notices Debbie's speed increasing as well. She races when she accidently finds herself in the middle of the street on a red light, having been distracted by her surroundings. She awkwardly hides behind a wall when she sees Debbie's head turning around. She waits forever and when she finally comes out, Debbie's gone.

She almost stops following Debbie, thinking that Bea would murder her if she knew. She doesn't want Bea to hate her, to stop caring about her.

Debbie takes a bus, and Allie struggles to hide herself in the nearly empty vehicle, but when she finally gets off, a stop later than Debbie's, she thinks she's nailed it.

She finds herself walking in a calm neighborhood, where every house has a white picket fence and a huge porch that goes around its structure. The greenest lawns welcome her, and despite the huge trees reaching for the sky as they guard the houses from privy eyes, Allie distinguishes the familiar shape of a pool in many backyards.

It doesn't take Allie a long time to figure out that this is a level of wealth she can only dream to have one day. She doesn't feel comfortable walking in this place, with her hoodie and the obvious shadows under her eyes.

She doesn't just look like she's from a different world, she really doesn't belong here. At all.

The biggest problem these people probably have is to decide whether to go to a fancy restaurant or an even fancier one, while she must decide whether she can afford to spend two dollars on junk food.

"Allie, right?"

Debbie's accusing voice startles Allie so much that the blonde almost falls to the ground.

"Are you done following me?"

"I was – "

"Don't tell me you weren't," Debbie replies sharply. "You obviously were and you were bad at it too. I saw you long before I stopped you. I gave you the benefit of the doubt."

Debbie's eyes are burning with a fire that reminds Allie of Bea's. Allie thinks that if Debbie is anything like her mother, then she better tells the truth and nothing but the truth. She might be taller than Bea's daughter, but right now she feels like she's a child being scolded by Debbie, the severe school principal.

Allie feels pride washing over her. Bea did great with that kid.

"Fine, I was," Allie confesses, "but I was just curious about where you were going."

"You were there when I told mom I was going to a friend's, weren't you?" Debbie frowns, openly judging Allie's figure.

"And I just wanted to make sure you really were going there," Allie challenges, refusing to let herself be intimidated.

She doesn't add that she wanted to make sure Debbie wasn't heading to a crack house. She doesn't add that she wanted to make sure Debbie wouldn't be found with a needle in her arm a few hours later. She doesn't add that she wants so badly to be wrong, but the longer she looks at her, the more convinced she is that Debbie's taken something.

Some signs just can't be ignored.

Debbie debates what to answer, but Allie beats her.

"I don't want to cause trouble you with your mother, if that's what you're worried about."

Debbie stares for a long time before she decides to answer.

"How much do you know about mom?"

She isn't about to let any secret out. She'll keep them until she's six feet under. But she's still smart enough to notice the bond shared between her mother and Allie. She'd have to be blind not to. Plus, Allie obviously knows about the shelter.

"Enough to be worried about her safety. And yours," Allie adds with the most serious voice she has.

Debbie shrugs. She doesn't need someone to worry about her, she's been doing just fine on her own.

"Don't judge me," she admits regardless, knowing she won't get rid of Allie unless she tells the truth, "I'm going to see my dad."

She starts to take a few steps without waiting for an answer.

Allie's eyes widen in panic, and she runs to Debbie.

"Are you insane?!" Allie gasps, grabbing Debbie's arm with more force than she means to. "After what he's done to your mom?" She glances around, making sure no one is listening. "The first place you go when you come back here is your dad's? Why would you do that?"

"Exactly for that!" Debbie claims defensively before she lowers her tone. "Because I need answers. Look at where my mom is. Now, look around you, where my dad is. It isn't fair that he gets to keep everything after he stole my mom's life."

"So you're doing this just to ask him questions?" Allie asks, a bit relieved.

"I want to know if he can be fair to mom… and I missed him."

Allie's jaw drops to the floor and Debbie pulls back harshly, a flash of anger in her eyes. She shakes her head in disappointment. She should have known she couldn't trust anyone. So many thoughts are running through her exhausted mind. She's jetlagged, she can't think properly, and she's still digesting the news that her life is being ripped apart by her mom's recent decisions.

"You're just like him, aren't you? Using force to get what you want?"

Allie scoffs, completely taken aback by the ridiculous suggestion.

"No, I'm not," she says, trying to gain back a bit of control on a situation that keeps getting worse. It's a disaster she couldn't predict. "I'd never use violence for anything."

She thinks of all the people she hurt during her times with the Red Right Hand and suddenly, she's livid, remembering the blood she spilled just for revenge.

It isn't the same, she thinks. It really isn't. She would never hit someone innocent.

"You just grabbed my arm," Debbie states blankly. "Hard."

She remembers when her father used to grab her mother's arm. He would send her flying into the nearest wall and then laugh.

"I'm sorry," Allie apologizes quickly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Funny, that's what my dad said all the time before he stopped pretending he cared about mom."

"I'm not your dad," Allie protests defensively.

"Then who are you? What do you want with mom?"

"I'm Allie Novak," Allie properly introduces herself. "I met your mom when she'd just arrived at Wentworth. She's helped me a lot and I owe her my life."

"And now you want to be paid for that?" Debbie asks skeptically.

"No!" Allie shakes her head like the idea disgusts her. "I care about your mom. I – I want what's best for her."

"I don't trust you," Debbie replies detachedly.

Behind her hard words and cold accusations, there's a little girl who wants nothing more than to protect her mother.

Debbie won't let someone else hurt her mother. It's been hard enough to watch her parents through the years, she won't let it happen again.

She was three years old when she'd first noticed something was wrong between her parents. She was five years old when she'd realized she wasn't strong enough to stop the violence. She was seven years old when she'd tried to say something. Her father had just denied all claims to the police while her mother, with obvious fear in her eyes, had laughed it off and pretended it was just a small fight. She was twelve years old when her mother had told her to keep her mouth shut.

This time, she's ready to fight, she's ready to bleed, and she's ready to lose herself, just to help her mother survive.

"It's fine if you don't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either. But right now, you're high, and you think you're invincible. Well, you're not," Allie advices, ignoring the way Debbie's words pierce her heart. "I'm not the enemy here."

"You can't stop me," Debbie replies. "Dad never hit me. Did mom tell you that? He never hit me. I think I'll be fine."

She doesn't deny the fact that she's high and feels like she's invincible. She walks away decidedly, but Allie joins her quickly.

"I want you to be safe, and I want the same for Bea. We don't know each other, it's true, but I know what it's like to…"

Be desperate for justice.

Want an escape.

Feel hopeless.

Care in a world that doesn't.

The end of the sentence disappears into emptiness, and Debbie's eyes dare Allie to finish it.

"I miss dad," Debbie suddenly says, tears appearing in her eyes. "And I miss mom. And I wish I could make all of it stop so we can be a family again."

She wishes she could start her whole life again, without the ghost of violence constantly hovering over her head. She wishes she could have saved her mother earlier, even when she was tiny and a simple slap from her father could have given her a concussion. She wishes she could have been brave enough to speak up against her father when her mother couldn't, but he always had the last word.

"I just want to see if he's alive," she murmurs. "He hasn't contacted me since I left."

She wishes the version of her father that she loves could be the only version to exist.

"What did you take?" Allie asks softly, trying to see through Debbie's armor. "I can help you."

Debbie seems to hesitate. She looks around, judging whether to admit that she's crossed too many lines while away from home.

"How can you help me?" she frowns. "I don't even know you."

"I know that you took something. I haven't told your mom. I told you, I don't want you to be in trouble, I just want to help."

Debbie frowns.

"You're an addict?"

"Not anymore," Allie admits.

Debbie decides not to say a word.

"It doesn't matter what I took. If you care about mom, if you really do, you won't tell her where I am," Debbie replies detachedly. "You know why."

When she walks away this time, Allie doesn't stop her.

Her conversation with Debbie plays into her ears a long time afterwards.

When she finally leaves, she fights not to give in to the urge to curl in a ball and stop moving. Everything went wrong, and Debbie planted a seed of doubt in her mind. What if she isn't enough for Bea? She curses in her head.

She thinks that if this is where Bea has lived before, then she truly has nothing better to offer her. It doesn't matter how hard she tries, she'll never give Bea the life she deserves. She'll never give her this perfect house in a perfect neighborhood with a perfect pool in the backyard.

And Debbie is painfully right.

If Bea learns that this is her daughter's true destination, she'll come back here in a second, she'll come back to her abuser, and Allie would never be able to stop her.

She can't say a word.

* * *

"Allie's got the hots for you."

Bea looks up to meet the sight of Maxine smiling down at her.

She's waiting for Will Jackson to finish his meeting to speak to him about Debbie's sudden arrival.

She shakes her head negatively as Maxine takes a seat next to her. The couch bends under their weight and Bea sinks in the comfort of the leather. She places the book she was reading aside and faces Maxine, their last conversation still echoing in the back of her mind. Is it just her or does Maxine seem more and more exhausted with each passing day?

The house is quiet. Everyone else is either in their room or outside while the employees are having their weekly meeting. Bea wonders whether they're deciding on her fate right now, or someone else's. She doesn't know much about the meetings, just that the files are discussed and that the next steps are planned accordingly. She wonders what they'll say about Harry wanting to meet her.

"She does," Maxine teases with her eyes sparkling. "Have you seen the way she looks at you? I thought she was going to ask you to marry her on the beach."

Bea studies her suddenly fascinating hands. No way. It wasn't _that_ obvious. Allie likes her, she knows that, but it's not like that. It can't be, especially not in a 'will you marry me' way.

Allie likes her, that's all, and that simple fact is electrifying enough.

"She's cute," Maxine continues, nudging Bea's side, trying to elicit any reaction at all from her friend.

Cute is an understatement, Bea thinks to herself. Allie is the sun that illuminates everything around her, and Bea has been living in a black and white world for way too long. Allie is the paint and the brushes and the canvas, and she walks around like she's a masterpiece that Bea can only admire day and night.

"Seems like Allie isn't the only one having a crush."

"I don't have a crush," Bea scoffs like the idea is outrageous.

Crushes are for twelve years old. She's a full-grown woman for God's sake. Crushes are not for her and they never were in the first place.

She feels the butterflies rebel in her stomach once again and she wonders what she has done in a previous life to deserve feeling like a constant lovesick mess these days.

She wants it to stop.

She wants it to last forever.

"She speaks," Maxine laughs. "Only to lie. I know you, Bea Smith, you both like each other."

"I'm not lying," Bea protests.

Maxine gives her a judgemental look and Bea rolls her eyes.

She isn't lying, she's just downplaying reality a little bit. Plus, if she had to describe what she feels for Allie, she certainly wouldn't use the word _crush_ because Allie is so much more than that.

 _Crush_ feels like an insult more than anything else.

"I don't know. We've never talked about it."

"You have eyes, don't you? You don't need to talk about it," Maxine replies.

"She's my friend."

"Do all your friends act like she does?" Maxine asks, knowing fully the answer to her question.

It flashes in Bea's head, a big NO in neon lights.

None of her friends does. No one she's ever known does.

Allie shows up everyday just to talk to her. She acts like every encounter they have is a blessing. She listens and cares, and never betrays Bea's fragile trust. She brings her smile and her joy, and her quirky remarks that Bea cannot live without anymore.

Allie treats her like she's special, like she's worth everything. She treats her like everyone should bow down to Queen Bea and worship her until their last breath. She treats her like she's human and real, and still beautiful despite her flaws, and like she never ever wants to look away from her.

Allie makes the mornings magical and ethereal.

Allie creates a first date out of nowhere and it's everything Bea has ever wanted it to be.

Allie makes Bea want to kiss her until she's fighting for air.

"I've only being with men before," Bea whispers, half to herself.

"It doesn't mean you have to be with men for the rest of your life," Maxine chuckles quietly. "I was born a man and it wasn't me."

"I know," Bea exhales loudly. "I just can't imagine being with a woman."

She knows it shouldn't matter, that she's free to be attracted to whomever she wants, but the need to label herself, to label her feelings, is stronger than her. She curses how society's ways control her. She can't accept the possibility that she doesn't belong without a label. Living with a label attached to her head feels safer and easier, and more socially acceptable, even if it is only a prison in disguised.

But a label isn't a simple tag braided in her hair.

It's a hangman's knot around her neck, and it's getting harder to breathe by the minute.

What difference should it make that she's attracted to a woman this time? She can't control it. She can't just shut down her feelings. She can't ignore them and pretend like they never existed. She can't go to sleep at night and suddenly wake up differently.

"I'm not gay," Bea repeats the words she said a lifetime ago.

For some reason, she doesn't believe in them anymore, and her voice trembles, lacks confidence. Her thoughts are blurred together, dominated by the unique need to taste Allie's lips. It's all she's been thinking about recently. Allie's lips. Allie's eyes. Allie's voice. Allie's laughs. Allie's skin against her own.

She's addicted to the way Allie makes her feel, but it doesn't lessen her inner panic.

What is she? Who is she? What does she want? She's losing sense of her identity in this war against her feelings. Nothing makes sense and she feels like she has no valid reason to fight.

She shouldn't be fighting so hard just to give herself the right to fall in love.

"There's something people always forget," Maxine gently offers. "They focus so much on who to love and what gender they are attracted to, that they forget to love the most important person. They forget to love themselves."

Bea hasn't loved herself ever since Harry tumbled into her life and murdered everything good.

"If you just love yourself first, the rest will follow," Maxine continues.

"That's a very embellished way of seeing things."

"If you love yourself, then everyone else's judgement means nothing."

"I doubt it," Bea dismisses. "So what, I just love myself and the rest of the world stops harassing me? I just love myself and suddenly, Harry's not here anymore? Is that how it works?"

Her last words come out like razor blades, slicing her posed behavior away.

"He wants to meet me," she confesses, feeling like a rock is replacing her heart every time she thinks about it. "It's not to tell me to love myself and move on. He wants something. I don't know what, but I can't put Allie in danger by letting myself be blinded by whatever _this_ is."

"This is about Allie and you, not Harry."

"I can't just think about Allie and I."

She can't risk everything by being selfish and following her feelings. It would put Allie's life in danger, and she would hate herself even more.

"I think Allie's smart enough to decide what she wants," Maxine argues.

"She doesn't know Harry. I've never told her what he's capable of."

"Then maybe you should."

"No."

"Why not?"

"She doesn't need to know because he'll never get to her, I'll make sure of that!" Bea replies like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He will never touch her. She'll lose her life trying to protect Allie if that's what it takes.

Maxine smiles victoriously.

"Not a crush, eh?"

Bea looks at her like she wants to murder her, but she doesn't say anything. Her mouth forms a thin line as she concedes her defeat.

"I care about Allie. Is that what you want me to say? I do. I like her, and it's- it's probably more than just a crush. But we never talked about that. I don't know what she thinks about me."

The more she talks, the more lies she spreads.

"Oh, she likes you. You're just both too stubborn to see it. But, love, you go for it. She cares just as much about you," Maxine says as gently as she can, knowing Bea is a bird about to fly away anytime now.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Maxine's right. It isn't a question of whether they have feelings or not anymore. It's a question of when they'll finally admit it to each other and when they'll act on it.

It's a question of when they'll stop hiding behind fake dates and vague statements that are open to interpretation.

"What if you are ready?" Maxine nudges her side.

Bea shifts uncomfortably.

"What if I'm ready to tell her, but I'm not ready for the answer?" she murmurs.

Maxine smiles mystically.

"I don't think you should be worried about that," she grins. "You'll get the answer you want."

Bea shrugs embarrassedly.

"I'm going to have the operation," Maxine declares, changing the subject now that she's gotten the information out of Bea's mouth.

"What made you decide?" Bea asks curiously, her posture stiffening.

The thought of Boomer being left behind hits Maxine's heart continuously.

"I want to live," Maxine responds with the saddest voice. "I just want to be alive."

She just wants to live for as long as she can because she's not done here. Her story isn't over. Her life won't be stolen by cancer, she won't allow it. She has so much to do and so many people to care for, and she isn't ready to say farewell.

Bea leans her head on Maxine's shoulder.

"We all do," she whispers. "How did Boomer take it?"

"She thinks I'm leaving her. I tried to tell her that I would be back, that it's good for me, but you know her, she needs time. At least, she listened to everything I said."

Boomer had run away from Maxine's room and had yet to reappear.

"Have you told Franky?"

Maxine shakes her head. It's something she wants to do in person, not by phone. It isn't the kind of news that she can just spit out and forget about. She needs to feel the words come out of her throat, feel how hard it is to pronounce them.

She needed to see the devastation across Boomer's face.

And she'll need to remember how excruciating it will be for Franky too.

Those are the memories she'll carry with her when she needs a reminder of what she's fighting for. She'll fight so she won't ever have to hurt her friends again. She'll fight just to be able to see the people she loves smile again.

"Do you need anything? Anything at all?" Bea asks, slightly afraid to know the answer.

"No, love. I just needed you to admit the truth before it's too late," Maxine winks.

Bea groans and looks at the ceiling.

"I want you to promise me that you'll go for it. With Allie? Go for it."

Bea frowns. No way. She can't just go on with her life when Maxine's fate remains unknown. She can't just pretend like Maxine hasn't dropped a bomb on her and the air isn't toxic to breathe.

"Hey. No thinking about death here," Maxine pokes her cheek like she would a small child. "We only keep our eyes on the positive outcome."

She's begging Bea because she needs someone else to believe with her. She can't have her mind attacked by tragedy when she's so close to healing. She needs to focus on something positive, on something beautiful, and what is more beautiful than her friend learning to love again? What is more beautiful than her friend learning to trust again?

"Promise me?" she repeats with her eyes focused on Bea's. "Next time you see Allie, you'll tell her?"

It takes a few seconds for Bea to answer. Mentally, it feels like she spends a decade trying to figure out if it is a promise she can keep.

"I promise."

* * *

When Will Jackson walks into his meeting with Bea, he doesn't expect her to be holding a pile of papers with the most serious look on her face. He doesn't expect her to motion for him to sit on the opposite side of the table, like she's the one working at Wentworth and he's the one seeking helpful advices. He almost thinks that something terrifying has happened over the night and braces himself to intervene should Bea be in crisis.

His mind goes to Debbie and suddenly, he fears that something might have happened with Bea's daughter.

When Bea starts talking, he listens closely to what she says, never letting any of his thought be revealed by his facial expressions. Relief floods over him when he learns that the youngest Smith has only arrived earlier than expected. He anticipates Bea's question before the words are even pronounced and knows his answer already. He's lucky that he's already managed to talk to his team about the matter because he would hate to deny Bea's request.

"Of course, your daughter is welcomed to stay for the week, as long as she doesn't contact her father while she's here. I assume you haven't found an apartment yet?"

"No. The places I've searched turned out to be terrible or already rented." Bea replies with a discouraged voice.

"You still have time," he smiles.

He went into this field to help people.

He had just celebrated his marriage when his wife died in an altercation with a violent relative. He'd been the one to find her body, her cold, lifeless body, covered in more blood than he'd ever seen before. He still dreams about it when the night competes to be darker than his nightmares.

He'd thought he would never smile again. He'd thought he would never move on. He'd thought he was doomed to pretend to be alive for the rest of his miserable life. He'd dropped his job and turned to pills, but not for long. He'd kicked himself out of his hole. He'd unsuccessfully tried to find another job, until he'd found this place, where they welcomed him to work even if he was a man.

The women of the house had helped him glue his broken heart back together, more than he could have ever helped himself.

He'd worked here during the holidays, when the house was fully decorated, and the gifts were raining on everyone. He'd welcomed dozens of women who'd been through hell and helped them find their way back to paradise. He'd baked cookies with the kids and ended up covered by flour from head to toes. He'd played football with the infants, laughing until he couldn't breathe as a two years old child had kicked the ball and fell right after.

The happiness he could have had with his late wife had been replaced with the joy he'd found here. He had learned more about life in his years of working here than in his entire life.

Today, he's set on giving back as many second chances as possible.

"Just make sure you explain the rules to her before she comes here, alright? She doesn't use violence or take drugs or alcohol?"

Bea's smile gets brighter.

"Oh no, Debbie wouldn't do that."

* * *

It's a small Vietnamese restaurant hidden between a dental office and an administration building. It doesn't look appealing at all with its broken lights and its faded name hanging over the door. It's so discreet that it's completely empty during lunch time, most people preferring to grab take-out and leave immediately. However, the place is as clean as can be, the food comes from talented chefs, and the scents escaping through the door lure strangers inside every minute.

It's an unexpected gem that Bea and Debbie discovered, years ago, when Harry was out with his friends, getting drunk all night. It's been their place ever since, whenever they needed to find a quiet place to talk. It's become a safe haven, and Bea has asked Debbie to join her here to discuss a few things.

She's going to tell Debbie that Wentworth is ready to welcome her. She'll tell Debbie about the rules to follow, rules that she is sure will be no problem to her daughter.

She waves eagerly at Debbie when the young woman pushes the door open. She pulls Debbie in a tight embrace, inhaling deeply into her arms. She feels like she could embrace her for an hour. Words aren't enough to convey how much she's missed her during the past weeks. She has tears in her eyes when she steps back. She'll never get used to how fast her daughter is growing, and how far they've come together to be able to hug today. She's never been prouder.

"I ordered our usual," Bea smiles as they sit face to face. She looks at Debbie like she's staring at the brightest diamond. No matter how exhausted she is, she's the happiest when Debbie is here with her. "How were your friends? Were they happy you were back?"

Debbie plays with the corner of her napkin and glances hesitantly between her hands and her mother. She takes a sip of water, but it feels like she swallows dry sand.

"It went great," she lies. Images of her father's surprised eyes are dancing in her mind. His voice, warm and welcoming, encouraging her to come in and grab a cup of tea, is still playing in her head. "We're already planning to meet again tomorrow. We have a lot to share. They want to know everything."

"That's good! It really is," Bea insists. She'd been worried sick that her daughter would lose all her friends after studying so far, but it seems like she was wrong. She's so relieved that she doesn't notice the nervousness in her daughter's eyes. "How are your studies?"

She's asked this question many times on the phone, but she wants to hear it again.

She wants to see her daughter's mouth moving so she can truly, finally, believe her.

"They're good, I told you," Debbie grins. "I've had great grades so far and the program is very interesting."

"And your friends? From there? They're nice with you?"

"They're amazing. I'm the first to be surprised at how welcomed I've been. You have nothing to worry about," Debbie smirks. "They're nerds too, so we don't spend every night going out, if that's what you think I'm doing."

She doesn't mention the occasional debaucheries, the occasional times she allows herself to lose control, and how much she loves it.

"I'm your mom, my job is to worry about you," Bea shakes her head slowly. "And I have all the reasons to worry! My little girl, alone there. I barely talk to you."

"You call me every day! I'm not five anymore," Debbie rolls her eyes playfully. She decides not to mention that if she's _alone there_ , it's because she was sent there against her will.

She's still angry about that.

"It won't ever be enough, I'll call you more," Bea replies like it's obvious.

They share about the last few days and Debbie's flight. Bea tries to divert the conversation from the serious subjects, but sooner than later, she has to talk about it.

"I've got good news. You can stay with me until you leave. You're staying a while, aren't you?" Bea asks, ready to explain the rules of Wentworth as fast as she can so they can move on. It'd be easier if she already had a place of her own, but apparently, the world of real estate hates her.

The plan had always been for Debbie to come back for a full month in vacations. But plans change, and Debbie can't lie about that.

"I didn't want to tell you last night, but I came back here early because I'm leaving early too. I'll go back at the end of the week."

The food arrives at this moment, and suddenly, Bea thinks that her plate doesn't look appetizing anymore. It just looks bland, and ordinary, and deception tugs at her heart. She pokes at the piece of chicken and just stares at it for a moment while Debbie shifts anxiously in her chair.

"What do you mean, you're going back?" Bea asks, removing a strand of hair from her face. "you don't have to go back there for weeks."

She fears that she's finally driven Debbie away, and it eats her alive.

There's no delicate way to drop the news, and Debbie just chews her bite for as long as she can before her mother gives her a pointed look.

"I met someone."

Curiosity flashes in Bea's eyes.

"Someone… or _someone_?" she asks slyly, her lips curling up in amusement.

"Mom?! Gross."

"You're the one who started this conversation," Bea answers with an innocent voice, eyes twinkling with malice. "You never mentioned it in our calls!"

"It wasn't official."

Bea scoffs. Kids and their statuses now, she will never understand.

She's waited for this moment a long time. Debbie had had her first crush on a boy in elementary school, and it had been short lived. Ever since then, Bea's been worried that Harry's behavior would ruin relationships for her daughter. She knows the statistics. She knows Debbie is at risk of becoming a victim of domestic violence too.

But hearing about Debbie having a potential _someone_ suddenly makes her heart flutter.

"Fine. I met a guy. I think I like him. Don't make this a big deal."

Bea giggles, really does, because she is going to make this the biggest deal of the century.

She wants Debbie to know love.

She wants Debbie to know real love, not the rotten version she's had.

The kind of love that turns one's stomach all upside-down from the excitement of a single phone call. The kind that hurts sometimes, but never leaves permanent scars or bruises. The kind that heals unseen wounds with its whispered voices and comforting touches. The kind that leads to sleepless nights spent overthinking the future. The kind that creates insecurities that weren't there in the first place.

The one that transforms the boring into the extraordinary, and the ugly into beauty. The one that first exists in the form of awkward first dates, but turns into wild adventures as time goes. The one that burns, that cools, that destroys and fixes, but mostly, that makes someone feel at the top of the world every second of every day.

She wants that for Debbie. She wants her to experience how special it is to fall in love.

She's only just discovering it herself, the way it all feels.

It feels like she's falling and falling, and it might never end. She might crash, she might not survive, she might get adrenaline pumped into her body until the end of the days, or she might not, but she couldn't care less. It feels perfect to her.

Falling in love is the most addictive feeling.

"What's his name?" Bea asks softly.

"Brayden. We share a class, but he's a year older than me. He asked me out and we started hanging out. I told him I'd be back in a week. We're going to a cabin with some friends from school."

"My daughter's ditching me for a guy? Where has the time gone?" Bea laughs in disbelief. "I used to wonder when you'd meet someone, I never thought… I never thought you'd meet one so far from here."

Her voice gets lost into the air until Debbie snaps her fingers in front of her.

"He's good with me. I know what you're thinking. You wish you could meet him and throw some death threats at him. Well, he's not like dad. He never laid a hand on me," she explains quickly, feeling like she needs to reassure her mother on that matter. "He's been very understanding of my situation. I told him."

Bea wonders what exactly Debbie told this stranger, but she calms herself, arguing that Debbie is smart and wouldn't endanger herself.

"He treats you well?" she asks.

She's unaware that Brayden had introduced her daughter to the world of narcotics just a few months ago.

"He really does," Debbie smiles.

Debbie has no intention of telling her mother about the drugs.

Debbie had taken her first pill two weeks after she'd arrived. She'd loved the feeling, the rush and the euphoria. The absence of fear had been intoxicating and so incredibly different than what she'd felt before. She just hadn't been able to stop afterwards.

And she wants to go back because Brayden had promised her more when she'd be back. He'd promised her to go a step farther, and she can't wait.

She's become an expert at keeping secrets. She tells herself that it won't last, that her mother would never understand anyway so there's no point in telling her.

It's temporary. She could stop if she wanted, but she just doesn't want to yet.

"I trust you, my love," Bea gently replies, her hand reaching for Debbie's. "If you say he's good, then he must be. You're smart."

Her daughter would never make the same mistakes she made.

"But if you're going back next week, you better not be spending your week on your phone, talking to that Brayden, you hear me?" she continues, her hand squeezing Debbie's. "I want you all to myself, I've missed you so much."

She thanks the skies that they're reconnecting again, this time without the grey memories surrounding them.

"Really? Because it looks like you found someone to keep you company," Debbie wiggles her eyebrows.

"Don't change the subject!"

"Oh please, I'm not blind," Debbie rolls her eyes, recalling the protective way Allie had cornered her just this morning. "It's obvious there's something here."

Bea licks her lips anxiously.

"Well, if you must know, I like her."

" _Like_ like her?"

"How old are you?" Bea laughs.

"The same age you were when you said _someone_!" Debbie replies with a mild disgusted expression on her face.

Bea bites her lower lip before she answers.

"I do. I _like_ like her."

Bea waits for a reaction. Any reaction at all. She thinks that if Debbie disapproves, she won't know what to do next.

Debbie just looks at her like she always does.

"It's great, mom, you deserve it, whatever you have going on."

Bea breathes a little easier. Maybe she will be able to respect her promise to Maxine and finally tell Allie next.

They stop talking for a moment, both women digging into their food and taming the hunger.

Bea's chewing on her last bite when Debbie speaks again, and the question makes choke on her food. She coughs hard and asks her daughter to repeat, and she's baffled when she hears the same words again.

"What do you think if I went to see dad?"

"What? Debbie, you can't. You're going to live with me now, you don't have to see him again. You'll be safe," Bea frowns, her posture immediately stiffening.

It's not happening, she thinks, she hopes, she prays.

Harry took everything from her. She won't let him take her daughter too.

"Yeah, no worries," Debbie smiles like her heart isn't falling in her chest. "I just don't want to choose between you or him."

She has meaningful memories with both her parents and it breaks her heart to have to lose one. It feels like she's giving up her childhood. Her best memories come from those past years, and now, they're tainted with spots of dark ink that prevent her from enjoying them again.

She doesn't want to lose the woman who raised her all those years, making her a priority even when she was bleeding out and in need of medical assistance. She doesn't want to lose the woman who held her as they both cried, offering her a safe place to express her emotions. She doesn't want to lose the woman who made her the most delicious food and sang her the most beautiful songs everyday. She doesn't want to love the woman who asked her continuously how her day was, or the woman who gave her the last piece of cake even when she didn't deserve it.

She wants her mother to be safe and to have the life she deserves, but she wants the same for her father. She wants him to seek help, to be better in the future so she can keep a relationship with him.

She doesn't want to lose the man who taught her how to ride a bike or how to cook the best spaghetti sauce she knows. She doesn't want to lose the man who read her stories before bedtime and who she fell asleep next to, countless times on the couch, when they were both exhausted. She doesn't want to lose the man who taught her how to use a computer, or the man who took forever to trust her to walk to school by herself

She doesn't want to forget about all those times he made her laugh when she was crying.

Or those times he made her mother cry for no reason.

As much as she loves him, she hates him, and she wants to understand.

Understand where things went so wrong.

Understand what kind of man does this to the people he claims he loves most.

Understand why he never hit her, but he couldn't stop beating her mother.

"There's nothing to choose. He's not good for you. For us." Bea tries to remain calm, but her hands are trembling, and she forces an empty smile on her face. "You haven't seen him, have you? Because I won't let him go anywhere near you."

"But if he doesn't hurt me, and if you're not there, shouldn't it be alright? He'll never hit me."

Debbie licks her lips. Maybe her mom thinks there's nothing to choose from, but she feels differently. She's always felt differently, and it sucks, because it's none of their fault, and there's nothing to do about that.

"Well, I never thought he'd hit me, did I?" Bea asks urgently. "You have to understand how dangerous it is. You have no guarantee that he won't touch you."

"But I can keep my distance. What if I just call him on the phone?"

"He can find you. If he finds you, he'll find me," Bea says sadly. "I'm sorry Deb, I can't let you contact him in any way."

Of course, Debbie thinks, she had no chance to convince her mother. She should have known, and she feels dumb for trying. What's the fucking point? She can't control anything when she's here. She can only follow orders and wait for something to happen.

It's not like when she's oversea, in Brayden's arms, and he gives her choices to make and the power to have the final word.

"I get it, I do," Debbie replies somberly. "And I'm glad to be going with you, mom. I really am."

"I love you. Everything I do, it's to protect you," Bea insists. "I want nothing more than for you to be well. Believe me."

"I know."

It doesn't mean she agrees.

"Good," Bea inhales like it's the first time she's doing so in hours. "Now, I'm getting my life back. I'll find a good place to live, a great job, and it'll be just like before, only better. I'm getting there, I promise. I'll build us something amazing."

"I know you will," Debbie answers with a smile.

She doesn't doubt for a minute that her mother can do anything she sets her mind to.

"Wentworth is temporary, but there are some rules to follow," Bea starts to explain.

Debbie nods absently as her mother tells her about the life in the shelter.

She thinks of Brayden and his inviting arms and misses the end of the conversation.

* * *

Wentworth isn't the only shelter in town.

There are other places for men, places for women, even places for teenagers that have left their home to live in the streets. Some welcome people by themselves, some welcome families. Some let people stay for one night, some for a few days, while others offer apartments to rent for a few months at an affordable price. Some are specialized in mental health issues or crisis intervention, while others refuse to let anyone at risk inside their doors. Some agree to let people with an addiction problem inside their doors, but most don't.

Several save lives.

But many also lose lives.

Allie visits countless places in one afternoon. So many places reject her for any reason at all, that she's losing track of where to go. She thinks that there are so many shelters, but also so many restrictions that it's a wonder they still accept enough people to fill their beds. She thinks it's stupid. Where do all the rejected people go?

She finds herself at the place where she stayed years ago, when Kaz wasn't in prison and when she first dragged herself out of the streets. She thinks they won't take her again, not after she disappeared on them abruptly before.

She's wrong and she thinks that life is finally giving her a fair chance to win this game.

* * *

"It's temporary, just a few nights, but it's better than the alley," Allie explains to Bea. "I'm looking forward to not having to wake up every hour to make sure my things are still here. The only condition is that I must try to find a place for myself and possibly another job… Not that I've been working much recently."

It's the end of the evening, not anytime near their usual five o'clock meeting, but Bea has asked that they change the time of their meetings, so she can stay with Debbie during the night.

"I'm glad you'll be safe," Bea breathes out. Time is passing by at lightspeed, and she only realizes now how far they're come. "Can you really do that? Leave your job and disappear?"

Allie shrugs.

"I used a fake name and I was careful with my regulars."

"Were you?" Bea frowns, remembering the night she had to pick up Allie's broken pieces off the ground.

"Yeah, it's hard to believe," Allie chuckles to herself. "But this isn't the type of job where you can keep track of your hours and salary. I worked for myself. I don't have anyone to talk to if I want to stop. I'm lucky in a way. If I want to stop, I can."

She's excited to stop working and find another job. Working had started to be harder than ever since she'd met Bea. She hadn't been able to shut her mind off the way she'd used to, and every time she'd left the motel rooms, she'd been overwhelmed with shame and self hatred.

"Maybe you'll finally get a place of your own," Bea smiles. She resists the urge to freaking clap her hands at the fact that Allie is finally moving on from this profession. She was never a fan of it.

"I wish. Will you move in with me if I do?" Allie bats her lashes at Bea at a ridiculous speed and both women burst in laughs.

Allie's smile is as bright as always, and Bea somehow wonders if the blonde practices how to be the most joyful person on Earth before their meetings.

Bea thinks of the promise she made Maxine.

She can't seem to forget it, and she has no excuses not to respect it. She thinks her heart will fly to the moon if it beats any faster. She tries to think of the perfect moment, but she can't think properly when the idea of living with Allie is floating in her mind.

She thinks they might be moving too fast.

She thinks she might not care.

"Is that a real offer? I'm quite picky on houses," Bea teases.

Allie is reminded of the expensive houses she saw earlier, but she doesn't let this discourage her.

"I'll buy you a castle," she serenades. "And anything else you want," she adds genuinely.

Sitting on this bench over a month ago had to have been the best decision of her life because now, she's holding Bea's hand, and Bea doesn't pull back, only lets her thumb caress the back of Allie's hand.

The sunset makes the scene extremely corny, but Allie couldn't care less. She'd live in a romantic cliché movie everyday if that means she'd spend time with Bea. Heck, she'd love to make her own movie out of their strange undefined relationship.

It would have the happiest of all happy endings.

"That's not necessary," Bea chuckles. "I wasn't serious."

"Well, I was! So get your fancy ass ready to move in with mine because it's happening. We're going to live together, and we'll grow old until we're ninety, and we'll have wild hot sex all day, everyday, remember?"

Judging by the way Bea's eyes light up like fireworks, Allie knows her ridiculous answer was the right one.

"I can't wait," Bea winks, and Allie thanks the universe that she's sitting or else, she would have fallen to her knees right here and now.

Bea thinks that this might be the right moment to tell Allie.

Tell her she likes her.

Tell her she cares about her in a non-friendship way.

Tell her, tell her, tell her.

"Did Debbie join you at Wentworth?" Allie asks lightly, changing the subject, unaware that Bea is having a mental breakdown.

"She did," Bea grins. "She didn't want to talk to anyone and she went straight to my room, but she told me it isn't a bad place."

"That's good. I was scared she was going to force you to run away abroad with her," Allie laughs.

Or worse, she thinks, remembering her argument with Debbie.

She feels like she needs to tell Bea, but how can she when Bea is looking at her with such bliss in her eyes?

"Really?" Bea mockingly asks. "And what if she did?"

"I'm coming with you! You won't get rid of me so easily," Allie winks. "I've got so much to teach you."

The sexual innuendo is crystal clear, and Bea lowers her head in embarrassment.

She finds herself thinking of how it would feel to be pressed against Allie, and to drown into her blue eyes just seconds before their lips connect.

How it would feel to have Allie's hands travel everywhere, from the curve of her neck to her lower back, past her waistband, and then lower than she can bear to think of.

How it would feel to have Allie's lips replace her hands.

How it would feel to -

"Your hand's getting sweaty," Allie points out. "Nervous?"

Bea doesn't reply. It's the first time she's thought of sex in forever, and she can't, simply can't, stop thinking about Allie, naked underneath her.

It excites her, but mostly, it terrifies her.

Allie smirks silently. Gosh, this is too easy.

She loves it, but she can't let them stay in this situation. There's so much she needs to tell Bea, so much she needs to confess.

"It's fine," Bea clears her throat.

Maybe this is the moment, she thinks.

The right moment to tell Allie.

Anything at all, really, just to change the subject.

"I need to tell you something," she whispers.

It's so quiet, and Allie doesn't answer, and Bea realizes a little too late that she's never said those words out loud.

"I need your advice on a hypothetical situation," Allie breaks the silence nervously, interrupting Bea's silent words.

Fine.

Maybe she can wait a bit more.

Bea gazes at Allie and waits for her to keep going. She has a feeling the situation isn't as hypothetical as Allie claims it is, but she'll be the judge of that later.

"Supposed I'm going through a rough time. I don't have any friends, I'm kind of in a new neighborhood, I don't feel comfortable talking to anyone, I have a lot of anger inside of me… And I just don't know what to do anymore."

Bea frowns, wondering where this is coming from.

"And I look for something to do and I find nothing. Nothing helps me feeling better. And I can't talk to anyone. And eventually, some circumstances lead me to drugs."

"You're not thinking of using again, are you?' Bea nearly shouts, worried that Allie's relapsing.

"No, it's hypothetical," Allie insists, a little too hard for Bea to believe her. "So, things happen, and I find that I like drugs. And at first, it's recreational, it's fun, and then I can't really give them up."

"What advice do you need for this hypothetical situation," Bea purses her lips, her eyes staring at every part of Allie's body, searching for hints.

Maybe she should trust Allie's words and accepts that this is a hypothetical situation, but her instinct tells her it can't be that simple.

"Well, what would you tell me?"

 _That you fucked up._

"That you're a recovering addict and you should never use drugs, even recreationally," Bea answers, brutally honest. "Seriously, Allie, what's wrong?"

Cut the fucking crap, she wants to yell. She's never enjoyed uncertainties and ambiguous answers.

"Okay, but let's say I wasn't an addict," Allie suggests, ignoring Bea's last question.

Bea opens her mouth and closes it. She's having a hard time grasping the situation, and she senses that Allie is getting increasingly nervous.

Something is wrong, and she can't figure out what.

"I'd tell you to stop using and seek help. Why?"

Allie's smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"Just wondering."

She senses Bea's suspicions and doesn't want to ruin everything, but she has a feeling it's too late for that.

"Tell me or you can forget about me ever moving in with you," Bea says, half serious, half worried to death.

Allie sighs, her mind debating how to formulate her next thought in a respectful way for everyone.

"I think…"

She struggles to let the words out. They just won't come out. No matter how much she wants them to.

Bea removes her hand from Allie's and turns to face her directly, her eyes drilling into Allie's as she seeks the truth.

The annihilating truth.

"I think Debbie's using," Allie confesses.

Bea blinks once. Twice. Even three times, before a small smile appears on her face.

"You must be kidding me," she snickers. "There's no way that's true."

She laughs sourly. Really, there's no way.

"What's wrong Allie? You got yourself some gear and you want me to throw it away? I can do that. Just tell me," Bea says like it's no big deal.

Allie would feel offended by that statement, but she's too busy getting anxious.

"I'm serious, Bea. I really think she's using. She was shaking last night."

Bea shakes her head and a tiny laugh escape her throat.

"No, you're wrong. Whatever happened, you're mistaken," Bea argues gently.

"I talked to her."

"When?"

"This morning. I followed her," Allie explains, hiding the fact that they ended up streets away from Harry's house.

Bea frowns.

"What? Why would you do that?"

"She didn't deny it when I asked her," Allie whispers. "I'm sorry, Bea."

Bea rolls her eyes.

"Don't be sorry. You misread the situation," she says, convinced that this is all a misunderstanding. "Debbie would never take drugs. She's not… "

She closes her mouth, swallowing the words that were about to come out.

"A junkie?" Allie interrupts. She wants Bea to listen to her. She needs Bea to listen to her, especially now. "I wasn't either, you know, when I started?"

"Well Debbie isn't! She'll never be!" Bea says loudly, attracting a few people's eyes on them. "Maybe your past prevents you from seeing that, but Debbie isn't anything like you."

She regrets the words as soon as she says them, and she sees the hurt reflecting in Allie's eyes.

She closes her eyes. This is not what she wanted to tell Allie.

This isn't what she was supposed to tell her.

This isn't what she told Maxine she'd do.

"No one is immune to that," Allie insists, trying to remain calm in adversity. She knows Bea doesn't really mean those words. Bea would never say that in another situation. Bea's only reacting without thinking properly. "I'm telling you, I'm an expert at this."

God, this is going terribly wrong.

"Right now, she needs your protection more than ever," Allie states strongly.

Bea almost roars at that statement.

She may have made some wrong choices in her life, but she's spent years protecting Debbie, taking the hits so she wouldn't, listening to the insults so he wouldn't direct his attention to his daughter. She'd made sure he was always preying on her, and never Debbie. She'd directed smiles and laughs at Debbie to let her know that the world wasn't ending, even with a broken jaw and bleeding lips.

She'd talked to her daughter and embraced her, and kissed her to sleep ever night, ignoring the way her own body just wanted to collapse and give up the fight. She'd feed her every day even when she had to hold the burning food in her hands because Harry had taken all the dishes out of the house. She'd pretended to play a constant game of hide and seek with Debbie whenever she knew Harry was prone to explode, even going as far as locking them in the bathroom for three full hours.

She'd taken everything she had and given it to Debbie.

How could Allie even suggest that she isn't protecting her daughter right this moment?

"I'm going to give a chance to stop talking," Bea declares, her eyes shooting bullets in Allie's direction. "Or to correct yourself."

"I won't. You need to hear this," Allie replies with a voice that cuts through Bea's fortress. "I know it's hard to hear, but you have to. I wouldn't say it unless I was sure."

Bea looks away. She feels like she's going to pass out.

It can't be true. It just can't.

"Look, Bea, I don't think it's too late. I don't think she's addicted yet. There's still time to help her."

"You're right, she isn't addicted," Bea denies, shaking her head firmly again. "You don't get to come here and tell me that you think my daughter's doing drugs. You don't know her like I do."

"You don't know the signs like I do," Allie fires back.

"You're wrong," Bea repeats.

Bea moves back on the bench. Sitting in proximity with Allie only makes her sick now.

"Bea, listen, as your friend - "

Bea clenches her jaw.

 _Friend._

And to think she came here to tell Allie that she –

"Oh yeah? Is that what we are?" Bea shoots angrily, leaving her thought unfinished.

She is brought back to her conversation with Maxine, to her conversation with Debbie, to the times she almost kissed Allie and the times Allie almost kissed her. She wants everything be clear once and for all because they can't keep playing pretend and avoiding what they are.

Allie is making her feel so many emotions that can't be described as friendship, and Bea is more than tired of acting like her heart isn't jolting alive every time she sees her.

"We're not just friends. You've been flirting with me since day one. You almost kissed me." Bea stops and takes a deep breath when she finally, _finally_ , mentions it. It feels good to finally say it out loud. Now, she isn't the only one obsessing over that thought.

Allie blinks.

This isn't about them. It's about Debbie.

Is it?

Allie feels the situation slipping out of her hands and she's losing control on everything.

She sees the pain in Bea's eyes and she hates that she feels responsible for it. She wishes she could make it all go away, but she's too far gone to stop now. She can't turn back the clock, she can't run back from where she came from.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

"Bea, I care about you. I'm saying this precisely because I care," Allie replies slowly, aware that every word she says must be chosen wisely. "This isn't what this conversation is about…"

She has no idea where the conversation is heading toward. It keeps switching from Debbie, to their relationship, to the anger that is now pouring out of Bea's mouth like she's a volcano in the middle of a violent eruption.

"Your words are worth shit right now," Bea spits out like venom, her overprotective side exploding. She's so focused on the ways she'd had to protect Debbie in the past that she can't see that the present is different. "You're telling me lies about my daughter, hm? Who knows what else you lied about."

Allie opens her mouth wide when she realizes what Bea implies.

"Bea, no," she stutters, "we can talk about us if you want, but this isn't the right moment. Right now, I'm begging you to listen to me. I'm begging you, please."

Bea bites her lips so hard that she thinks she tastes blood in her mouth.

"Why are you saying that Debbie's taking gear? If you want to break my heart, fine, but don't you dare use my daughter to do it."

Bea crosses her arms protectively on her chest.

Irrational thoughts are attacking her from all sides, and she doesn't even try to dismiss them. Maybe Allie's finally realized that Bea wasn't worth her attention. Maybe Allie doesn't know how to let her down gently, so she's using Debbie as an excuse. Maybe Allie thinks that insulting what Bea loves the most will be enough to break them.

It makes no fucking sense, but really, anything is better than the idea that Allie might be saying the truth.

"Because it's the truth!" Allie yells, raising her arms in the air, her emotions getting the best of her. "And you need to accept this and help her if you don't want her to turn out like me. If you don't want her to end up in the streets and live a shitty life."

Allie will drag herself in the mud if that's what it takes for Bea to listen to her.

"She needs your help," Allie murmurs. "Trust me on this. It always starts with the small, inoffensive doses, until they're not anymore."

Bea scoffs and looks at Allie like she doesn't know her anymore, doesn't trust her anymore.

"Bea, when have I ever lied to you?" Allie gently asks, smiling sadly.

 _Never._

Bea knows it too well and maybe that's why her heart is being crushed so intensely right now.

"Bea, you know that I don't want to hurt you," Allie croaks with a broken voice.

Allie's features soften, and she moves closer, cupping Bea's cheek in a shaking hand.

It doesn't sound like a lie at all.

Bea can't listen to this anymore. She stands up so quickly that she gets dizzy. Adrenaline kicks in and she nearly races towards Wentworth, with Allie calling out her name in the dark.

She can't do this. She doesn't stop. She increases her speed and dashes through the streets, barely looking before she crosses the intersections. She nearly gets hit by a car, but she still refuses to slow down. She arrives at the shelter in a minute, only for Allie to catch up to her.

"Bea, wait!" Allie shouts, looking at her from across the street.

She doesn't answer, doesn't stop, doesn't even look back. She rings the doorbell under Allie's pleading eyes.

She shuts the door behind her, unware that Allie's finally crossed the street and stands there, half alive.

She walks past Vera and enters her room without a word.

Debbie is sleeping on her bed, and Bea wants nothing more than to make everything, the past, the present and the future, vanish.

She sits at the desk and buries her head in the palms of her hands.

She falls asleep on the hard, wooden desk, but when she wakes up, her heart still aches more than her sore body.

* * *

Debbie's waiting in line to get breakfast.

Bea's watching her attentively from the table she's sitting at. It's getting hard to ignore Maxine and Boomer's voices, but she shuts them out regardless, focusing her attention to her daughter. She's been unable to divert her eyes ever since she slammed the door on Allie's face. Something in the blonde's words had activated her inner alarm system.

Surely, Allie is wrong, but Bea finds herself needing confirmation.

She stares as Debbie places bread in her plate and pours a cup of tea. Everything seems normal. Debbie doesn't even seem tired at all. She seems wide awake. Her movements are confident, her arms are strong and steady, and she doesn't even flinch when someone accidently bumps into her. She politely excuses herself and walks toward Bea's table.

In fact, she seems acutely aware of her surroundings and highly confident as she approaches the table and immediately introduces herself to Maxine and Boomer. She even sounds excited to be here, to meet new people.

Perhaps too much.

Debbie has never been a morning person, and Bea knows her daughter prefers to stay quiet rather than to engage in a conversation with strangers.

Could a few weeks spent abroad be the reason for such change?

Bea wonders if this is all a coincidence.

"Bea?"

Bea looks up at Liz's voice.

"Could I see you a minute?"

Bea walks to Liz's office and Liz proceeds to close the doors to give them just enough privacy to speak without being accidently listened to. Her mind still flies back to Debbie, but she tries to focus on Liz's voice for a moment.

"I'm sorry Bea, but I need to know your answer about your ex-husband's request?"

Bea wants to laugh because she said she was going to think about it, but really, she would rather do anything else than see Harry again.

His stupid request to see her to discuss the divorce had quickly left her mind.

But a small, harmful thought crosses her mind and makes the decision harder than she'd expected it to be.

What if he knows about Debbie?

She curses mentally because she knows she's made her choice, and it might ruin everything.

"I'll see him."

* * *

 **Three things:**

 **1\. So far, I plan that this story will have a total of 18 chapters.**

 **2\. Stick around for chapters 9-10... and all the others, it'll be worth it!**

 **3\. Thanks for reading :)**


	9. SOS It's out of hand

**Thank you for your patience.**

 **Chapter's title comes from "Back on the map" by Kacey Musgraves.**

 **I stole yet another scene from the TV Show...**

* * *

 **Chapter 9 : S.O.S. it's out of hand**

The first day they spend without each other is torture.

Despite Allie being constantly on her mind, Bea focuses her energy on spending as much time with Debbie as she can. They go out and explore places from their past or find new ones to make their own. They laugh, they cry, and they love each other like they've never left each other, and Bea almost believes that her bruised heart is healing.

It doesn't last long, and before she even realizes what she's doing, Bea starts to spy on her daughter.

She listens to her daughter's conversations when she's on the phone with Brayden. She doesn't notice anything strange, but the doubts never leave. She smiles when Debbie leaves Wentworth and claims to visit her friends again, but a tiny part of her brain doesn't believe her anymore. When Debbie comes back, it's the middle of the night, and Bea hides her tears when she smells the familiar scent of Harry's favorite beer lingering on her daughter's clothes.

She asks Debbie about it, but her daughter shrugs and tells her she's paranoid.

She swallows her insecurities and insists, even raising her voice, but Debbie doesn't say a word.

She wonders what Allie would think of this.

* * *

The second day they spend without each other never ends.

Allie waits all day at their meeting location. She waits until her eyes can't stay open anymore, and still, she forces herself to stay awake, just in case her favorite person shows up. Bea never comes, and Allie befriends loneliness once again. She refuses to give up and she sleeps on the bench for the night. No one wakes her up except the sun, the brilliant sun that never shines bright enough without Bea by her side. She waits until she has no energy left, until her stomach shrinks under the absence of food and until her lips crack and bleed from dehydration.

She walks back to her small room in a shelter that doesn't feel as welcoming as it used to.

She plans her visit with Kaz with a sour taste in her mouth. She wonders if her mentor will also reject her. She wonders if there's any part left in her that can be broken, or if they are all bleeding heavily already. She looks and acts like she doesn't belong with the livings, until she finally snaps back to life when someone in the streets asks if she has drugs with her.

She doesn't want to be associated with the toxic substances anymore, and she finds herself planning her meeting with Kaz differently. She has many questions to ask, and many answers to beg for.

There's a woman in her heart, and Allie refuses to give up on her.

She finds out where Harry lives, and thinks of every way he's ruined Bea's life.

She wonders if the Red Right Hand could strike again.

* * *

The third day they spend without each other is a glimpse into their future.

Bea meets with Liz and Vera, who want to make sure that she isn't insane for wanting to meet Harry.

Allie celebrates the fact that she's been out of the streets for a few days now, and that she has no intention of ever going back.

They both keep moving forward.

Bea realizes that she misses Allie.

Allie wonders when she'll ever stop missing Bea.

They both secretly hope that this is the last day they'll spend apart.

* * *

There's something about Franky that brings a smile to Bea's face whenever they meet. Whether it is the perpetual friendly mockery that goes on between them, or the sometimes too heavy moments they share when they think of their newfound family, they always end up having a good discussion together. It seems crazy for Bea to think that, had she met Franky anywhere else, she might have just passed her by without a second glance.

Visiting Franky's new apartment had seemed like a good idea to Bea. It had sounded like an opportunity to catch up, to laugh at Franky's terrible choices of furniture and to finally test Franky's culinary talents. It had been a chance to distract her mind from the fact that she still had no idea what to do about Debbie.

She'd arrived without any expectations, but her mind had gone all kinds of places when she'd walked in on Franky and a very familiar psychologist making out in the middle of the living room.

In her defense, Franky had told her to just walk in as soon as she'd be there.

Bea hadn't said anything, and Bridget had kept her thoughts to herself, but they'd been unable to look each other in the eyes as Franky had quickly kicked the latest out the door.

Bea had thought that this would be the only embarrassing event of the evening, the only moment during which she'd regret coming here.

Until Franky had read her mind and started drilling her about why she looked like death had run her over.

"I'm not giving you any food until you tell me what's going on," Franky declares, leaving the pots on the stove and joining Bea on the couch.

It smells like the best damn food she could be having, and Bea's stomach growls rebelliously while its owner remains silent. Bea curses the fact that she hasn't had food before coming here.

"Come on, you already saw me and Gidge. You have shit on me, I won't go tell everyone what's keeping you up at night… or who."

"You're horrible," Bea laughs coldly. "What the fuck was that with Bridget?"

"Just don't tell anyone yet? Please?" Franky asks with a serious face. "I'm not playing her, and I don't want to ruin it."

"I know that, but when? How? I thought you couldn't see her unless you had a meeting."

Bea is so confused that she's losing track of her thoughts.

"I don't know, it just happened and then… it happened again! It's Bridget. It's new and exciting, and really, Red, you could at least pretend to be a bit happier for me!" Franky adds with a victorious smile.

It is clear that Franky presents herself like the proudest person on this planet, but all Bea sees is a whipped little shit she calls her best friend.

Bea exhales loudly. How in the world is she ever supposed to have a meeting with Bridget again now that she has this image sealed in her mind?

"Now, come on, tell me! I will eat in front of you and feel no shame," Franky continues convincingly. "I'll even wave my fork in front of your sad little eyes, and pretend to give you some, and then take it away. I might even eat all of it and leave you nothing! You know what I'm capable of."

Bea rolls her eyes even though she has no doubt that Franky will do as she says.

"Is it about Maxine?" Franky asks softly. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

Bea lowers her sight to the floor.

It really does.

"She came over and told me this morning," Franky says with a small, broken voice that doesn't resembles her. "I never thought it would come down to this. She was fine. I swear she was."

"I know," Bea nods. "I didn't expect it either."

"I can't lose her."

"She'll fight. You know her," Bea smiles gently. "You know she won't leave you so easily."

It might be a joke, but it reassures Franky regardless.

"No one leaves me that easily," Franky smirks, her invincible persona back in place where it belongs. "And no one leaves my questions unanswered, so tell me, Red, what's going on?"

"You remember Allie?" She figures she might as well start talking or Franky will lock her in and torture her for answers.

It's a stupid question. Franky will never forget Allie. Franky has Allie categorized as the woman whose sole presence turns Bea into a lovesick fool.

"She says Debbie's using," Bea says, feeling her chest tightens at the mere idea. A ridiculous, lame idea that was pronounced a few days ago by the most honest voice. "She says she can recognize the signs."

"Really?" Franky asks, concern floating in her dark eyes. "Do you reckon she's right?"

"No!" Bea answers, mildly offended that Franky entertains the idea. "Of course, she isn't. Debbie doesn't take gear. She's never been interested in that, but Allie is convinced that she's right. She says it starts with the small doses that no one notices."

It makes sense. No one simply falls into addiction without warning. No one just slips and becomes incapable of living without drugs just after one small hit.

"So you think she's lying?" Franky asks again, choosing her words carefully so she doesn't accidently pick a side. The last thing she needs is for Bea to go off on her.

A few hours ago, Bea would have screamed 'yes', loud and clear, but now, she's unable to decide.

She hadn't seen anything when she'd spied on her daughter. No matter how much time she'd spent staring at her or listening to her words, she just hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Except for the smell. The damn smell of Harry's beer that Bea can't forget about.

"It just makes no sense. Why would Debbie do that? She has goals. She's going to a great school. She has friends. She even has a boyfriend. Her first boyfriend," Bea smiles weakly, eyes lost in nostalgia. "She's growing up into this beautiful, strong woman. Why would she ruin it?"

As soon as the question leaves her lips, Bea wishes she could take it back.

"Maybe for her, it's not ruining her," Franky puts Bea's thoughts into words. "Maybe she thinks it's good for her. Hell, maybe it helps her. No offense, but your daughter hasn't had the easiest time recently, don't you think?"

It takes Franky a lot of courage to say the last statement, and Bea is almost grateful for it. Sometimes she forgets that Debbie has suffered too. Sometimes she forgets that Debbie has cried herself to sleep and has feared for her life too. Sometimes she forgets that Debbie might have searched for help too.

Whatever type of help she could find oversea, where Bea could not follow her, and where Bea's protective eyes weren't on her for the first time in her life.

An escape.

"Debbie knows it isn't the right solution," Bea says shockingly, unsure whether she believes in her words or not. "She should know."

"Everyone knows," Franky whispers softly.

Everyone knows, until they forget.

It might start at a fun party or with a need to avoid reality, or simply curiosity. It might start for no reason at all, or be the only choice one feels they have. It might be a small dose, an unknown pill or a reckless smoke at the end of the night. It might be a needle with hidden poison inside. It might be temporary, but it can become forever.

"It sounds to me like Allie's just looking out for Deb," Franky speaks. "She's worried. It wasn't an attack on you."

Guilt washes over Bea. Franky's right. It was never an attack on her, but she'd snapped back, insinuating that Allie was the worse case scenario and that she was hopeless even in recovery.

She'd accused her of lying and not taking their relationship seriously.

She'd accused her of not caring.

Allie has never stopped caring, no matter how many times Bea had pushed her away, sometimes cruelly and without reason.

"She says I need to protect Debbie. She said it like I've never protected her before," Bea rages quietly. "She said it like I'm a bad mother!"

Sure, Allie had never said the specific words, but Bea's talent for overthinking fills the holes with the worst version of the truth. Sure, she trusts Allie to be fair with her, but she can't get over those words.

"Do you really think Harry is such a good father that he wouldn't hit his own daughter?" Bea implodes, shaking and clenching her fists until her knuckles turn white. "No! I protected her. I told him to hit me as many times as he wanted, as long as he left her alone. I told him I would take it. I told him that if Debbie ever did anything to annoy him, he could find me and do whatever he wanted with me. And he did. He did find me. And I protected her."

She isn't sure who she is trying to convince anymore, Franky, Allie or herself.

"I did everything I could to protect her. I still do," she spits out, fighting to believe in her own statement, but it's getting harder every time she repeats it.

She still feels like she could have been a better role model, and maybe that's why Allie's words hurt so much, because she'll never feel like she truly protected her daughter all those years. She could have run away years ago, when she was pregnant. Instead, she'd chose to believe a monster over and over until she'd found herself being handcuffed to her miserable life.

A part of her feels like she was never a good mother for Debbie, and she never will be.

Even though she's technically free now, she feels like she still has handcuffs on, and the key is still missing in a distant dimension.

She feels like she doesn't deserve Franky, or Maxine, or Boomer, or even Allie.

She'd failed Debbie in the past, and if Allie's gruesome version of events is true, she's still failing her today.

She can't protect Maxine.

She can't help Boomer.

And she let Allie down just a few days ago.

It's a matter of time before she ends up alone.

"I don't know Allie much, but I doubt that she was telling you to be a better mother," Franky tries to reassure Bea. "Did you even ask her to clarify? Does she even know everything you just told me?"

Bea remains quiet, resentment singing the opera in her head. The thoughts won't leave her alone.

She wants to turn off her brain and never turn it on again. Maybe then, she'll finally see the world clearly. Maybe then, she'll finally hear Allie's words for what they were, and not what she thought they were.

"How do you feel about Allie?"

The question surprises Bea more than she lets it on.

"What do you mean?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at Franky.

"Oh, don't play dumb!" Franky responds with an exasperated voice. "How do you feel when she's with you? How do you feel when she's talking to you? Or when she's staring at you like you're sex on a stick, whatever works for you!"

Bea rolls her eyes so hard that she nearly loses them to the back of her skull.

"I feel…"

 _Like I have my confidence back._

 _Like I have enough energy to fight any obstacle that comes my way._

 _Like I have the passion I need to fully enjoy this life._

 _Like I am forever supported._

 _Like I am unconditionally loved._

It's all she's ever wanted. It's what she'd told Bridget she needed, weeks ago, when she'd met her the very first time.

Allie has given it all to her.

"I just didn't expect her to break my heart," Bea admits as the feeling of betrayal cuts through her once more. She can feel herself bleed out by the second.

She thinks this agonizing feeling will never go away and that every time she'll see Allie from now on, she'll fear the words coming out of the blonde's mouth.

She's scared that she'll never be able to face Allie without remembering this painful conversation.

She thinks she'll never be able to forgive Allie, or to ask for forgiveness herself.

She thinks she might never see her again. After all, it's been three days since she last saw the woman who stole her heart.

She misses her terribly. Of course, she does. She misses her so much that she doesn't know how the fuck she's still alive right now.

She misses her so much that she could steal a plane and write those words in the sky for the whole city to see, and any notion of self-control could go screw itself. She could finally accept that every minute she spends away from Allie is wasted time that she'll never truly enjoy. She could proclaim that obvious fact to the universe.

She thinks she might have ruined the very best thing that has ever happened to her.

"You want to know what I think, Red?" Franky interrupts Bea's twirling thoughts. "You're right. You got your heart broken real good for the first time."

Bea sinks into the couch.

"But not by Allie," Franky finishes, holding Bea's eyes with her own.

* * *

The prison stands tall before her with its impressive brick walls and its intimidating barbed wires. It's a building made to scare people, to prevent them from committing crimes unless they want to be stripped of their rights and freedom. It's a place where the most terrible people of the planet supposedly are, even though some evils still roam freely, untouched by the laws they've created themselves. It's where justice is served, sometimes fairly, sometimes not.

There are cameras following her every move when she enters the prison to announce herself, just in time for visiting hours. She puts on a brave face and she walks through the metal detectors. She has nothing dangerous on her, but she's still scared that they might stop her for no particular reason and keep her locked inside these walls.

She waits anxiously in the visitors' room. It's a small room with enough doors and large windows for her not to feel claustrophobic. However, the more she looks at the guards standing around her, the more convinced she becomes that they are going to fire at her at any moment.

What if one of the inmates attack her suddenly? Will she be able to run fast enough? Will the guards be able to save her on time?

She shakes her head. She has too many misconceptions about prisons and prisoners dancing in her head. She keeps forgetting that this could have been her home. This could have been her home for many years.

She sees a flash of dark blonde hair to her left and she turns her head just in time for her eyes to find Kaz's. Kaz stares directly into her soul, and Allie suddenly feels small, like she shouldn't have come here.

She hasn't been here in so long. Kaz probably doesn't want anything to do with her.

But a single thought forces her to stay. Bea.

"Kaz," Allie says hesitantly. "You look good."

"Don't be ridiculous, I look like shit," Kaz says with a raspy, tired voice. "I was surprised to hear you wanted to see me."

Kaz sits in front of her old friend, her eyes hard and emotionless as she scans the younger blonde for a few seconds. Prison has changed her, and she half-expects Allie to shiv her in the visitors' room, even though Allie has no reason to do so. It wouldn't be the first time a friend tried to end her. Being top dog is harder than anything she's ever done before, and she can't let her guard down.

"How's prison treating you?" Allie asks shyly. She wishes she could embrace Kaz and let her know that she cares, but something tells her it isn't the wisest choice here. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

"Prison is prison," Kaz replies detachedly. "It isn't anything worse than what we had with the Red Right Hand. Some assholes try to kill me now and then, and the guards are shittier than shit, but at least I'm top dog. It means I control everything."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"I think we both know that you don't need to worry about me," Kaz replies.

She is pleased when she notices how clean Allie is. There's no dirt in her hair, no bags under her eyes, and no overly dilated pupils due to the drugs in her system. There's no trace of white powder on her clothes and they even seem to have been ironed recently. There's no bruises on her arms and no hickeys in her neck. Allie's hands rest on the table and Kaz nods to herself when she sees there's no blood on them, no scars or signs of a recent fight with undesirable people.

"How have you been, Allie?" Kaz asks with real worry in her tone. It doesn't matter how long it's been, Kaz will never forget the state in which she'd found Allie, years ago. She still worries about Allie's well-being, even behind bars. "You look good, and that's true."

Allie thinks about the last three days.

She thinks about the very first day, when she'd thought she was going to relapse and go to the streets for a sweet release. The moment she'd taken a step outside, heading to the districts ruled by Marie Winter and her slaves. The moment she'd yelled mentally at herself for wanting to get gear when she was finally out of the woods. And the moment she'd resisted proudly, deciding to stay inside instead of going out in the darkest night.

She thinks about the excruciating feeling of having an incomplete heart in her chest. It feels like the slowest and most painful way to die. Waiting relentlessly for Bea to show up had only added more nails to her coffin.

"I'm clean again." Allie doesn't need to look at Kaz to know what question she'll be asked next. "I relapsed. That's why I didn't show up. I just couldn't. But I'm clean now, really clean."

"Like the way you were before?" Kaz asks sadly. She doesn't want to hope that Allie will start visiting her again, only to have that hope crushed. There's no denying that she cares about Allie, but there'll always be many versions of Allie.

"Cleaner than ever before," Allie declares proudly. She'll never lose against herself again. "This is real, Kaz. I'm never using again."

Kaz thinks that she needs to really see it to believe it, but she doesn't mention it. She doesn't want to ruin Allie's optimism, but she remembers the countless times that the same promises were made, only to be broken a short time after.

"What's different?" she asks.

"Bea Smith," Allie replies with a ridiculously large smile on her face.

She can't even hide her feelings anymore, and Kaz frowns in confusion.

"It's this woman I met," Allie explains. "She changed my life."

"Allie…"

Kaz's warning remains unspoken, but Allie hears it regardless. They've known each other long enough that they don't always need words to express themselves.

"She isn't a drug dealer, she isn't a prostitute, she isn't working at the shelter where I live, and she isn't married. I mean, technically she is, but it's not relevant in this situation, trust me. I've gone through all of it in my head, Kaz, whatever you want me to be careful about. She's good for me."

"You remember what happened the last time you thought someone was good for you?" Kaz says in a hushed tone. "You almost died. Remember her, Marie? She fucking ruined your life. I'm not here to get you out of a shitty situation again, in case you haven't noticed."

"And I'm not that person anymore," Allie answers with a strong voice. "I'm not, I swear. You think prison changes you, you're probably right. But so do years in the streets. When you suddenly meet someone who looks at you like you have a place in this world, you change. I changed when I met you. This is just… different."

"I don't want to see you inside with me, alright? I didn't save your ass for you to ruin it," Kaz gazes at Allie suspiciously.

"You'll never see me inside," Allie smirks. "I'm a new person! I left the alley. I left the streets… I'm doing this, Kaz, you gotta believe me."

Kaz chuckles at the way Allie positively glows. Allie is the daughter she never had, and she feels proud no matter what happens, but this time, it's more.

She thinks she could cry from relief. When she'd first arrived in jail, she'd spent weeks wondering where Allie was, hoping that her corpse wouldn't be found in a hole somewhere on the side of a road. She'd worried that she'd made the wrong choice to take the fall for everyone when it would have been so much easier to look after Allie if they'd both ended up in jail.

But she never could have lived with herself if she'd stolen Allie's life.

The clock is ticking down, and she knows they don't have much time left to speak.

"Have you seen the others?" she asks. "My girls, are they good?"

"Yeah, they are," Allie replies. She tells Kaz about everything she knows regarding what's left of the Red Right Hand.

The discussion focuses on the organization and its members. Both women laugh as they recall stupid things they did in the past, and cry as they share regrets and stories of second chances.

Allie thinks of her idea of going to pay a visit to Harry.

It sounds like her best and worst idea of all time.

"They've stopped? Beating up people? I want them to stay out of trouble when I'm not there, you make sure of that," Kaz insists.

"Yeah, they're out of trouble," Allie replies calmly, hiding her twisted ideas far from Kaz's scrutinizing stare.

"You're lying to me," Kaz accuses. "Don't lie to me, Allie."

"I'm not. I just haven't seen them in a while," Allie says.

"Then why do you have that look in your face? The one that tells me you're out for blood? Are you planning something?"

It's easy for them to talk as if they hadn't just spent months part. They'll always be family, no matter what, and Allie doesn't want to be at war with her family.

The less Kaz knows, the better.

"I'm not!"

Allie doesn't want to be out for blood. She doesn't want to end up in prison. She doesn't want to keep fighting for her life.

She wants a respectful life that she's proud of. For Bea. For Kaz. For herself.

She wants that life, after Harry has been taken care of.

"Tell me," Kaz asks with a calm voice made of steel. "Tell me now."

Karen Proctor didn't become the leader of the Red Right Hand by sitting and waiting for things to happen. She stole the leader's position by punching another bitch in the face, and she took control of everything. She was in charge.

She still has this ability to force the truth out of anyone's mouth.

"Bea's ex… isn't a good man."

Kaz sighs loudly and can't believe she didn't see this coming.

"This is something I want you to be careful about!" she scolds, mirroring Allie's previous words. "You're going for the girl who has a violent ex-husband? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

"He doesn't know about me!" Allie protests loudly.

"He will for sure, if you go after him." Kaz warns. "Stay away from him. Let this Bea take care of it her way. This isn't your fight and you know it."

"You fought for me," Allie argues, aiming for Kaz's soft spot. "You didn't let me do this on my own."

"And look where I ended up," Kaz replies with a sad smile. "I fought for you and I wanted to, but now I'm stuck in here for many years. Don't tell me this is what you want."

Right now, all Allie wants is to protect Bea and Debbie.

"He's bad, Kaz. He won't leave her alone. I won't go after him now, I just- I want to do something."

She wants to scream that this is exactly why the Red Right Hand was created, but she doesn't. She doesn't want to attract attention to their table, especially when she knows Kaz's top dog. She can't risk putting her friend in trouble.

"I don't care what he does or doesn't do," Kaz insists. "I don't want to see you on trial for assault or anything else, do you understand me?"

Allie weights the advantages and disadvantages to keep arguing and comes to the frustrating conclusion that nothing will change Kaz's mind as long as she is in prison.

"Fine," Allie lies like she was born to say this. Screw this. She'll do it her own way. "There's something else. I was wondering if you still had that apartment we used as the Red Right Hand's headquarters?"

Kaz frowns. She wonders if she should insist because Allie doesn't look like she's going to let it go anytime soon. She decides not to, because time is flying away from them.

"It's been years, Bubba. I don't own it anymore. Money is power, even in here."

"Worth a try," Allie shrugs. "I've been looking for a place to stay but I'll keep searching."

"I'll ask around, I promise," Kaz offers.

"No worries," Allie looks around her. She plays with her hands the way she does when she's nervous and Kaz picks up on it.

"What is it?" Kaz warily asks. She almost lets her guard back up, but she stops herself just in time. It's Allie. Allie is like her daughter, her closest friend, even today. She wouldn't suddenly drop a bomb on her.

"I know you have many contacts in the city," Allie hesitantly pronounces.

She feels bad asking more from Kaz, considering everything Kaz has done for her: getting her out of the streets more times than she can count and keeping her out of jail. It feels like she's asking for too much and she's scared that she might be putting their relationship in jeopardy with all her requests.

But still, she needs to ask, for Bea. It's the least she can do.

"Do you know any hair salons?"

The question spins the conversation around, directing it to a subject Kaz would have never guessed in a hundred years.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's for Bea. She's been looking for a job, but there's nothing. I want to help her."

"Why isn't this Bea doing her own research? Is she using you? You can tell me," Kaz repeats her warnings again, her protective side never too far from the surface. "I've got… contacts."

The threat is obvious, and Allie nearly gets up and leaves.

"No, she isn't using me! If anything, I used her," she sighs. "She's going through a rough patch. I just want to do something for her, anything at all. I have to ask. It's okay if you don't."

Kaz thinks about her answer. She studies Allie's behavior, unsure whether to believe her or not, but she finds no reason to doubt her.

"Go to this place," Kaz gives an address for Allie to memorize. "Ask for Doreen. Tell her Kaz wants that favor she owes me."

"Who's Doreen? What favor, what did you do?" Allie frowns. She doesn't want to be dragged down an unknown path, and she doesn't recognize the name. Whoever it is, it isn't someone from the Red Right Hand.

"I met her in here. She was busted for a minor offense, she got parole a few weeks back. I helped her a few times against some women. I heard she's opened a small business. Trust me or don't, but do it for that crush of yours."

Allie scoffs and downplays it at the mention of a crush, but her eyes shine with gratitude. After everything that has happened, Kaz still looks after her, and this feels better than any drugs she could have taken in the last few days.

"Thanks! A lot. You're the best."

"You're just saying that because I saved your girlfriend's ass, right?" Kaz teases.

"You haven't changed a bit, you know?" Allie grins widely. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Your wife then. How come I wasn't invited to the wedding?"

"Piss off, Kaz. There's no wedding."

"There will be," Kaz gives her a pointed look.

Allie rolls her eyes. Fine, maybe she has thought about it. Maybe it has crossed her mind once. Or twice. Or a hundred times.

Maybe.

"You're not invited," she mutters grumpily. "You just focus on taking care of yourself, alright?"

"I love you too, Allie," Kaz replies gently.

Allie hums like it's no big deal, but Kaz's words squeeze her heart tightly.

"I love you," Allie answers.

She'll never neglect Kaz again, she thinks. She'll never let one of her favorite people rot in prison when she can visit her and bring her a bit of joy now and then. She'll never let herself forget about Kaz again.

She cares about her too much for that.

"I'll be back, Kaz. I mean it," Allie promises, her smile making Kaz believe every word.

Kaz stares as her friend leaves the visitors' room.

She knows Allie will be alright.

* * *

"Thank for seeing me."

After leaving Kaz, Allie had run to the address and found Doreen without wasting any more time. She'd met a joyful, beautiful woman with the most adorable little boy in her arms. Joshua had tried to distract her with his insane cuteness the entire time she'd spoken with Doreen, but Allie had one goal in mind. At the mention of Kaz, Doreen had immediately accepted Allie's request and insisted that she was more than happy to help.

"Kaz saved my life a couple of time," Doreen remembers. "Of course, I'll help you. Anything you want."

"It's not for me. It's for someone I care about," Allie replies, trying to explain the situation without revealing too much of Bea's life.

After promising Doreen that she'd be back in the next hours, she'd sprinted to Wentworth's door and practically begged Liz to ask for Bea.

"Give me a minute," Liz says gently, closing the door.

Allie thinks that she has spent a tremendous amount waiting after Bea in the past days.

It's the longest minute of her life and she internally screams when she hears the familiar sound of the door being unlocked.

"Bea," Allie gasps, her heart being shocked back to life.

Bea is here, alive and safe, and she's just as beautiful as Allie knows her to be. She walks hesitantly towards Allie, unsure what is expected of her. She stands before the blonde, eyes searching for a hint of what is about to happen, but she finds none. She inhales fresh, breathable air for what feels like the first time in three days, and her aching lungs are cured from the stiffening pain within seconds.

She faces Allie in silence.

"I'm happy to see you," Allie whispers. "Thank you for accepting."

She fights the urge to pull the other woman in a hug.

"I should be the one thanking you," Bea lets out slowly. "I'm sorry. I overreacted."

She'd wanted to contact Allie before, but she'd thought Allie would never want to see her again. The thought that Allie might still want her, might still care for her, had never crossed her mind until her recent conversation with Franky.

Harry would have slapped her and dragged her to the floor and trapped her in her room for hours.

Allie had waited patiently instead, but Bea would never know.

There are so many things Bea wants to tell Allie.

"Wait, not here," Allie smiles like the last days never existed.

And really, they never existed. Allie doesn't think those days are important at all. She doesn't want to remember the days she spent without Bea because they don't matter. She doesn't want to be angry when she can feel so many more emotions that won't lead her toward the path of self-destruction.

She doesn't want to be angry when she can focus on the happiness she feels from seeing Bea again.

"Trust me?" she asks.

She takes Bea's hand, waits a second for Bea to resist, and when she feels her palm being held strongly, she leads Bea in the city once again.

This time, there's no smoke, no drugs and no empty needles on the floor. There's no prostitutes or drugs dealers, no ghosts from the past to ruin their adventure. There's no night, there's only the bright sun above their head and the bluest sky they could ever dream of. They arrive in front of a place that Bea immediately recognizes as a hair salon.

Allie doesn't give Bea a chance to process the information and walks them both in, eyes zeroing on Doreen.

"Doreen! This is Bea!"

Bea freezes, unable to comprehend what the hell is going on as a tall indigenous woman quickly pulls her in a hug. She awkwardly lets herself be embraced. Allie laughs, and Bea feels her anxiety slowly melt away.

"Nice to meet you, Bea," Doreen says warmly, offering her a giant smile. "I'm Doreen. I heard that you'll be joining us here?"

"I- I don't understand," Bea replies, glancing from Allie to Doreen, to the room around her, full of chairs and mirrors, and scissors and accessories. It vaguely reminds her of a glorious past she was forced to give up years ago.

"Allie told me you are looking for a job and that you are a hairdresser? This is my salon."

"I-I am looking for a job," Bea stutters.

She's been looking for a job for weeks now.

"And I happen to be looking for extra staff since the place's been getting more popular. The job is yours if you want it. And if you can prove to me that you're as good as your friend says you are," Doreen jokes. "We're a team of three people and we're open from Monday to Friday."

"Are you serious?" Bea asks, unable to believe that something so perfect would fall on her lap.

"Absolutely," Doreen answers. "I've heard only good things about you so far. Call me crazy, but I like to believe in people, even if I don't know them that well yet. You'll start by helping us when it's busy, but once you get your name out, you'll have your own chair and regulars."

"I'm ready to volunteer if you need practice," Allie winks. "I'm still waiting on that cut and color you promised me."

Bea's eyes widen. This can't really be true. Surely, there's something she must do in exchange.

Good things don't just happen like that.

"Great, I'll be waiting for you in two days? I'll have everything ready and you can start," Doreen replies excitedly.

Everything is happening so fast that it makes Bea's head spin. She looks around once again, unable to believe that this isn't some joke from a terrible reality tv show. All she sees in return are Doreen and Allie having the friendliest of conversation and making fun of her confused look.

Scratch that.

All she sees is Allie, this breathtaking woman who has found her a job, a real job that pays real money that will help her pay for a real apartment of her own. Allie, who has just performed a miracle that will make everything better and easier from now on. Allie, who Bea thinks she can trust with her own life, and she can't believe she's ever doubted this woman.

Allie, whose eyes are back on hers with so much love and admiration that it steals her breath away.

She doesn't know how and why, and whether this is going to work as a long-term contract or just long enough for her to find her own place, but she couldn't care less. The details don't matter anymore. She'll take what she can get, and right now, she feels like whatever gets thrown in her way can be dusted away with a movement of her hand.

She has a job.

"Thank you," she says sincerely at Doreen when she leaves the salon. "This means much more than you can imagine."

Doreen simply smiles in return, like she can see through Bea's words and beyond.

"Oh here, take this key, sometimes this damn door locks by itself. I trust you won't steal anything in the meantime? I wasn't serious when I asked you for proof. If the clients don't come back to you, that'll be your problem, not mine, alright? I'll see you soon."

The walk back to Wentworth is quiet, as if both women were afraid to burst this bubble of happiness they have trapped themselves in. It seems to take them longer to walk back, but they don't mind. They even slow down when the streets get a little too familiar, and the massive shadow of Wentworth distantly appears before them.

The memory of their last encounter is hanging over them, and Bea wants nothing more than to burn it to ashes.

Bea keeps her eyes on Allie for as long as she can without walking straight into a tree or any obstacle that blocks the road.

Allie pretends that she doesn't notice.

"Why did you do that?" Bea breaks the silence when they're meters away from their destination.

"Why not?" Allie shrugs. "It's the least I can do after the crap I've put you through."

"I mean, why now? After what I said to you."

"I said things too," Allie replies, turning to face Bea and effectively making them stop on the sidewalk. "Things that weren't fun to hear. Things that hurt. Maybe I came in too strong, but I know you didn't want to hurt me, and that's enough for me."

 _Is it enough for you_ remains quiet, but Bea feels it fly around her head.

The answer is clear, and it's the only one that makes sense in Bea's head. She doesn't want to spend another day without Allie. Time is too precious to be wasted this way.

"I'm sorry," Bea repeats.

Fuck, she's so sorry. She'd been so busy protecting her daughter all those years that she had never stopped to think that Debbie was also human, and therefore, could make mistakes.

Debbie isn't perfect and realizing that had broken Bea's heart.

And none of this is Allie's fault.

"I'm really sorry," she repeats, holding Allie's blue eyes into her own.

"What for?" Allie winks slyly. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

Bea scoffs. Surely, Allie knows, but she's pretending not to.

She lets it go too.

Maybe they're forgiving each other too easily and maybe their hearts are made of glass, fragile and ready to crack again under the slightest pressure, but it feels so much better to forgive than the opposite.

"Hey Allie?"

Allie hums questioningly.

"I missed you."

Allie's smile is bright enough to power the entire planet.

* * *

Bea glances at Liz, whose calm eyes are telling her that everything is going to be alright. She doesn't believe it for a second. She won't fool herself. They may be in a normal meeting room they rented in a perfectly ordinary building located miles away from the shelter, she still feels like the place is too small and rigged with grenades.

This is a bad idea. This is the idea that she should have killed in her mind before it even reached her consciousness. This is the one idea that she really wishes she never had. Agreeing to meet Harry one last time was a terrible decision, even if they meet in a neutral place and Liz is there as a witness. It doesn't matter that she has her phone in her hand with the police's number on speed dial, being here still feels like a terrible, suicidal decision.

She tells herself that she won't feel anything when he arrives, that she won't be scared, that she won't be relieved, that she won't be angry. She tells herself that she can control herself and that she has nothing to worry about. She tells herself that when she sees him, she'll politely greet him and hears what he has to say, and then respectfully answers. She tells herself that they'll leave each other with a polite handshake and that they will never see each other again.

When he arrives, she nearly collapses on the floor from the wave of emotions that wraps around her neck and suffocates her.

She'd almost forgotten how tall he is, how impressive he is when he stands, and how confident his voice is when he talks. She'd almost forgotten that his eyes are kind when he's not angry, and that his charm knows no limits when he wants something. She'd almost forgotten that once upon a time, she fell in love with him, and that there were good reasons for her to feel this way.

He's nothing but a manipulator now, and she feels angry because she remembers the way those hands had wrapped around her neck or torn her shirt apart or slapped her across the face too many times.

She feels pathetic because she feels like she's putting her own life in danger.

She feels unexpectedly relieved that he smiles at her like he can control himself for one damn day in his life. Too bad this day comes too little too late.

If Allie knew, she would probably barge inside and murder the man herself, but Bea has kept this meeting a secret from everyone she knows. She couldn't handle the possible looks of disappointment and judgment that she might have received.

Now, she somehow wishes she'd told Allie.

What if she doesn't come out of this room alive?

"Bea," he greets as he sits in front of her. "And you are?"

"Liz," Liz replies without shaking Harry's extended hand. "I'm here as support to Bea and to make sure that this meeting goes well."

The hidden meaning of her words is loud and clear, and Harry nods, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly. He doesn't look nervous at all, but his lips form a thin line and he appears to be calculating everyone's every move. His eyes settle on Bea's.

"You look well."

"You mean without bruises all over me?" Bea replies harshly. "Yeah, not being hit every day does make a person look well."

A flash of regret appears in his eyes, but he shakes it away with a movement of the head.

"Now, let's not forget why we're here," Liz intervenes. She doesn't want this meeting to last longer than needed, and she really doesn't want it to go out of control. "You're here to talk about the divorce and that is all we will talk about, alright?"

Bea nods, and Harry follows, crossing his arms over his chest. He waits for Bea to speak first, but receiving only silence in return, shakes his head in disbelief and speaks.

"You want a divorce?" He asks. "I don't."

"I don't care what you want," Bea coldly replies. "I want you to sign the papers, and that's it. Then we're done. You can keep everything. The house, the car. I just want you out of my life."

"What about Debbie?" He replies with a strong voice. "You want to destroy our family? I won't let you. I'm her father. I have rights. I won't let you do this."

"You destroyed the family," Bea states, ignoring the rest of the sentence. "You're the reason this is happening right now, not me. You took away my rights, I don't owe you anything."

She's done taking the blame for things she isn't responsible for. She's done pretending like Harry is the good person between the two of them. She's done forgiving him when he doesn't deserve anything from her.

She's done with him. She doesn't want to talk to him. She doesn't want to listen to him. She doesn't want to see him. She just wants him out of her life, out of Debbie's life. She couldn't care less about his happiness.

She wants him to get the fuck out of her brain.

"I don't like being disrespected," Harry shrugs. "I was simply responding to the way you treated me."

Bea almost laughs and flips the table right in his face, but she resists the urge and simply rolls her eyes instead.

"I don't like being hit, but I guess you didn't care about that," Bea says without hesitating. "What do you want? Why did you want to meet me?"

To his credit, Harry looks ashamed of himself when Bea's words reach his ears.

He could never control his emotions and his actions, and today, he's realizing that he should have asked for more serious help when he had the chance. Today, he's losing the war, a war he started by underestimating his enemy.

"I wanted to ask you to reconsider."

Bea frowns. She turns to look at Liz, whose eyes are telling her to be careful.

"We can make this work," he continues with pleading eyes. "I can be a better man, a better father, a better husband. I can take care of us, we don't need a divorce."

Bea stares at him in the eyes and shakes her head like she can't believe he's even asking her to reconsider. She remembers too well what it means when he says he'll _take care of them._

He'll take care of them with his fists and his vile words, and his torturous manners.

He'll take care of them by throwing empty bottles at them and slamming doors all around the house.

He'll take care of them by threatening them with a knife and then laughing at their terrified looks.

He'll take care of them by stalking them when they are outside the house and infesting every single aspect of their life with his mischievous actions.

"This isn't a discussion," Bea declares through gritted teeth. "I want a divorce. I'll get it with force if I have to."

Screw his consent. Screw asking him. Screw begging him. She wants her freedom.

"Bea, please. I can be better. I'll work a program. I'll put in the efforts. I'll let you do what you want. I can do it." He looks at her like she holds the world in her eyes, but all she sees in his are wastelands and empty skies.

Bea doesn't believe a word he says. She's tired of his lies and exhausted from having to listen to the same speech for the hundredth time. She used to believe him and his beautiful promises. She used to crawl back to him and apologize for hurting him, denying herself the truth, that she was the one hurting. He always ended up going back to his old ways.

"I suggest you sign the papers. Is there anything else?" she asks, signaling Liz that she's ready to leave.

She's feeling slightly uneasy in his presence, aware that a single word can blow his façade.

"Yes, there is," he says calmly, with a voice that Bea recognizes.

He uses that voice when he's angry. He uses it when he's unhappy and wants things to go his way. He uses it when he knows he's about to strike and hurt, and Bea braces herself.

She stands up and walks to the door, ready to leave before he speaks, but the words reach her, like knifes piercing through her armor. He aims to make her bleed until she dies slowly and painfully.

"Debbie came to see me."

Even Liz, whose mind anticipates the different scenarios, can't stop Bea from spinning around and rushing back to the table, leaning as close to Harry as possible.

"You stay away from her," she growls while pointing her index finger at his face. Her worst fears are being confirmed and she can't, simply can't think of a way to stay calm. "You stay the fuck away from my daughter. If you touch her, I'll kill you."

She doesn't care how it sounds, she's never been more serious in her life.

" _Your_ daughter," Harry replies with a wicked smirk, "came to _me_. I didn't do anything. I didn't even know she was back, she just showed up at my door. Now, Bea, don't you think if we get a divorce, it'll only make her situation worse?"

Fuck, she hopes it isn't what she thinks it is. She doesn't say anything, but Harry must see that she doesn't know what he's talking about, because he looks like he's just hit the jackpot.

"Really? Don't you know?" Harry smiles innocently. "I thought you knew. I guess you aren't such a good mother if she doesn't even speak to you."

"Shut up!" she pronounces loudly. "You don't get to say that."

She fights his words with all her strength, but they've already taken roots in her brain.

Or maybe they had never left in the first place.

"She came to me to tell me she was seeing this boy, Brayden," Harry continues, not the least bothered by Bea's outburst. "Told me he was giving her some nasty stuffs. She said she liked it. She said she couldn't wait to leave again. Why do you think she does that? Why do you think _your_ daughter is doing drugs, while you're here without a fucking clue about it?"

The roots are growing, stronger and impossible to cut down.

"Now, this meeting is over," Liz interrupts. "Let's go, Bea."

She walks to the door and gestures for Bea to follow, but the redhead's attention is impossible to steal as Bea keeps directing her flaming glare at Harry.

"It's my daughter too," Harry groans. "It's my daughter's life that you're putting in danger because you're so fucking selfish. You're driving her away. If you hadn't sent her to the other side of the world, she'd be fine."

"I sent her because of you."

"She never took drugs when she was with me," Harry replied harshly. "I have the right be worried for Debbie."

Bea thinks she might be sick.

It's her fault.

It's all her fault.

"I never should have married you," Harry spits, showing his true self. "You're useless. Can't even tell when your daughter needs help. Can't even get that divorce you want so badly. And then you ask me to trust you with Deb?"

"Bea!" Liz insists, placing a calm hand on Bea's back. "It's time to go, love. You've done what you could."

Bea shakes her head. This isn't over. This isn't how it is supposed to go. There's a freaking forest of filthy statements in her mind.

She isn't supposed to feel like she's being buried six feet under ground. She is supposed to smile above Harry and lets him know that she's the real winner, that she escaped him, that she can stand on her own now.

She's supposed to show him that he can't control her anymore, but instead, she's back to being small and inexistent in this world. She's back to feeling like she should shoot a bullet through her brain and end it all.

"You'll never see her again," Bea rages. "You're a monster and if I see you again, near me or Debbie, you'll regret it."

Harry shrugs as the words bounce on his arrogance.

"You'll always be nothing. To me, to Debbie, to whoever else you meet. I'm not the monster here. I'm what's best for _our_ daughter."

Harry's words disappear in the distance as Liz pulls Bea strongly by the arm and forces her out of the meeting room.

* * *

Liz tries to stop her.

She tries to stop Bea from going out, as if she knows that a crisis is coming in the horizon.

She calls out her name and even refuses to open the shelter's door.

But Bea is stronger, and more stubborn, and the pain is deeper than it has been in weeks.

She storms out of Wentworth and doesn't specify when she'll be back.

* * *

Bea closes the door behind her. It squeaks in a frightening manner until it shuts the rest of the world out.

 _You're nothing._

The salon is quiet, and only the sound of the key in her hand breaks the silence. She looks around her. She puts the keys in her pocket, grateful that Doreen trusted her enough already to give her access to the salon whenever she wants.

 _You're worthless._

Everything is completely black, but the bits that are illuminated by the moonlight. Her own silhouette looks like a skeleton as it projects itself on the walls, and she feels like she might be a dead corpse walking amongst the livings.

 _You're useless._

She stands in the middle of the salon for a few minutes. Just a few hours ago, she'd had a job offer. She feels a deep feeling of joy blooming in her chest, but it's soon gone when the emptiness creeps on her again. The chairs look at her and the mirror sends back her reflection in all directions. The perfectly clean tables and the organized tools are waiting to be used again the next day.

 _You're unloved._

Bea thinks that this is the kind of place that Harry would have asked her to resign from, a few years ago. And now, it's insane to believe that she's got it all back. A job, a salary, her financial autonomy, her career. She hadn't dared dreamed of this day before, convinced that she was only fooling herself. She sighs as her eyes shut close and an unpleasant feeling takes over her.

 _You're the one who started it._

Her ears are still ringing with Harry's angry voice yelling around her. His insults are still swirling in her head. His statements are still burning scars inside her brain. His laughs are still paralyzing her with fears of reprisal. His eyes are still locked into hers, gleaming with victory as he speaks of their daughter, acting like he knows his words are suffocating Bea.

 _You'll always be nothing._

She opens her eyes and they zone in on the small, neatly placed razor blades on the counter.

There are no razor blades at her disposal at Wentworth. They're taken by the employees and kept in their office for safety reason, and the only way she can get access to them is by asking. It's wise, but it isn't enough to stop Bea, not tonight when she's too aware that she has no scars anymore and that her skin is brand new. A skin she feels she doesn't deserve.

She shouldn't.

She really shouldn't, but to know that her daughter went to see Harry, that she lied to her, that she does take drugs… and to know that Harry's still there, triumphing and living his best life when she's feels like she's forever stuck in the bottom of a bottomless pit, it's all too much and it muffles the small successes of her life. She doesn't even see the small successes anymore. She doesn't even see how far she's come.

Just like she doesn't notice the moving shadow just outside the window.

She really, really shouldn't, but she still walks toward the pile of blades and picks one delicately between her index and her thumb. It is light, and if controlled by a calm, steady hand, it can perform miracle on someone's hair.

In her trembling fingers, it becomes a deathly weapon, and when she holds it against her chest, it feels like she can't breathe anymore.

She walks to the back of the salon and leans against the wall, letting herself slide until she hits the floor gently. She waits until her heart stops trying to beat its way outside her chest and her head stops spinning like she's in a bad ride at an amusement park. She waits until she knows she's ready.

She lowers her pants slowly, exposing herself to the heavy shame she feels.

She takes one deep breath as she presses the blade on her skin. She leaves it there, immobile as she sinks in the familiar pressure after so long. It doesn't feel good, but it isn't bad either. It's strangely comforting.

She traces an horizontal line. It burns sharply as a thin line of blood peaks from between the cut skin.

The door flies open suddenly, and Bea flinches so hard that the blade slides against her skin a second time, deeper. This time, she winces in pain and she knows her intruder can see her.

It's Allie. Only Allie would know where to find her. Only Allie always appears when Bea needs her the most. Only Allie seems to have a sixth sense to always arrive on time, always interrupt Bea's grief.

She can't breathe. She holds her breath as Allie approaches her, and she clenches the blade so hard between her fingers that she thinks she might break it in half. She waits for Allie to yell at her, to steal the blade from her and to throw it on the other side of the salon. She waits for Allie to scream and calls the police, and tells her she's stupid and fucked up. She waits for Allie to look at her like she's scum and leave her alone.

Allie does none of that.

Allie stares down at her for less than a second before she understands the situation.

Bea looks down, ashamed and feeling smaller than she's ever been.

Allie gently removes the blade from between Bea's fingers and places it on the counter.

Bea opens her mouth, wants to speak, to explain herself, but no sound escapes from her throat.

Allie silently slides next to her, joining Bea in her anguish, unafraid of the dark.

Bea swallows the lump in her throat and stiffens when Allie moves closer to her.

Allie takes a cloth, soaks it with water, and offers it without any judgment in her action.

Bea takes it, presses it to the wound and regrets everything.

Allie waits a moment before she places her hand gently on top of Bea's.

Time stills.

Silent reigns.

Love grows.

Bea wants to disappear, but Allie refuses to let her.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading :)**


	10. Remind me who I am, why I am alive

**Chapter's title is a translated line from one of my favorite French song, "Si jamais j'oublie", by the talented Zaz. This song is initially about Alzheimer's, but I think it fits perfectly with this chapter.**

 **This chapter is a direct continuation of chapter 9, so make sure you've read it.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Stan. Your daily support is much appreciated and I hope this one makes your absent heart feels all sorts of things.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10 : Remind me who I am, why I am alive**

Bea rests her head on Allie's shoulder. She loses track of time and reality, and focuses on the way she feels impossibly safe whenever Allie is around. She closes her eyes and swallows back the sobs that want to escape from her throat. She won't cry, she repeats helplessly in her head. She won't let one single tear out of her eyes because if she does, she might not be able to stop the deluge afterwards.

She's shaking, and Allie puts her arm around her, and she trembles even more at how soft the contact is. It feels like Allie's humanity is trying to comfort her lonely soul.

She tries to speak, but no words can convey her thoughts properly. She breathes in Allie's presence like it is her only source of oxygen. It feels like home, and she learns that it's okay for her to need someone once in a while, that it doesn't make her any weaker.

She removes the cloth from her wound. It doesn't bleed anymore, but the bright thin lines burn sharply as a reminder that she's failed to resist the deathly urge to cut. She knows the cuts will heal, scab, and eventually, itch until she has to fight the need to scratch them. She knows they'll disappear without a trace, as they aren't deep enough to transform into permanent scars. She knows it is the last time, at least for now.

She falls asleep, right there with Allie's arm as her favorite blanket, and Allie's shoulder as her favorite pillow. She is jolted awake by Allie's fingers delicately stroking the inside of her thigh. She tries not to overthink the way her entire body aches. She tells herself that the way Allie never seems to walk away from her darkest demons is beautiful. She feels like she's asking for too much, but she remains immobile in Allie's embrace.

In-between dreams of Allie touching her everywhere and nightmares during which she is attacked by the ghosts of her past, she looks up and finds Allie staring right back at her, blue eyes shining with worries. She smiles slightly, feeling like a small child. She's afraid that she's imagining it all. She melts when Allie's hand reaches for her cheek and cups it gently.

She thinks she wants to kiss Allie, right here and now, in the dark of the night, where no one can see them.

She thinks she should wait because the timing is the worst.

She waits for something to happen, for something to break this moment.

She blushes when Allie slowly leans closer. She feels her heartbeat skyrockets the way it always does. She thinks the whole world can hear the drums playing in her chest. She wonders if it is a crime for her heart to direct the rhythm of the world, but how can she be blamed when Allie's hand is still designing imaginary tattoos on her skin?

When Allie simply lets their breath mix for a moment before she winks and moves back, Bea thinks the blonde might ruin her before they ever kiss.

She thinks Allie reads her mind every time and a part of her wishes things were different. If things were different, maybe she wouldn't be feeling so bare and vulnerable right now. She wants to tell Allie that she might never feel ready. She wants to tell her that if Allie keeps reading her mind like that, they'll never get what they both want.

Every time they get closer, Bea feels like she's being set on fire, and every time they separate, an ice-cold bucket is being thrown at her face.

She shuts her eyes when Allie looks at her with so much intensity that she thinks she might pass out. She isn't sure what stings more, her freshly cut skin, or the heartache she has whenever she thinks of Allie.

She feels like Harry was right.

She'll always be nothing. She has nothing to offer to Allie, but a load of issues that might take years to resolve. She should escape Allie's arms before she can't find the strength to. She should leave before they both end up heartbroken and miserable. She should run before they both murder each other with sweet words and eternal promises.

Gosh, she doesn't want to leave Allie.

She inhales deeply and shifts away a little. They sit with a ridiculously small distance separating them, but it's enough for Allie's heart to drop in her chest.

"Thank you," Bea whispers, reassuring Allie with two words.

"What happened?" Allie asks quietly, knowing Bea wouldn't simply be here without reason.

Bea glances at the clock on the wall and winces internally when she realizes it's almost morning.

Fuck.

She clenches her jaw and looks away.

"You can tell me," Allie says gently, not insisting, but letting Bea knows that whatever it is, she can trust her.

"I ruined everything," she admits with an emotionless voice.

"What?" Allie frowns.

"I met him," Bea confesses. "Harry."

She waits for Allie's screams and blame, but they never come. She waits for Allie to shake her head disappointingly at her, to get up and leave her alone in her misery, but Allie stays. She waits for Allie to call the police, but Allie doesn't do anything.

"Why?" Allie asks, hiding the anger growing inside of her. She should have guessed it was Harry. She'd never seen Bea in such distress before, and even though she has no clue what happened, she won't let him win.

"He wanted to ask me to reconsider the divorce. He wanted another chance," Bea scoffs to herself. Another chance would be the same as signing her death warrant. "I was naïve enough to think that he wanted to have a decent conversation. He only reminded me of why I left him in the first place."

She wonders if she would still be alive if she'd stayed with Harry.

She wonders if she would have ever met Allie.

She imagines spending her whole life by Harry's side and shivers.

"You said it was bullshit, right?" Allie smiles nervously. "You didn't let him sneak his way back into your life?"

Allie is more than convinced that Bea would never go back to Harry, so why is there still a part of her that is scared that she won't ever see Bea again? If only she could make that part disappear, her life would be a million times easier.

"I would never want him back," Bea replies pensively. "I've had enough of him. It's just…"

She thinks of his words and the way she can't get them out of her head. Will she ever be able to forget them? Will she ever be able to live without them? Or are they a part of her now, a new organ stuck inside her body and beating along her heart? She wishes a surgery existed to remove all those rotten parts of herself that still believe in Harry's words.

"What did he do? I will kill him, Bea, I won't let him hurt you," Allie threatens.

"No, you won't go anywhere near him," Bea grabs Allie's hand. "Promise me."

"I'm not scared of him!" Allie protests. "You think I'll let him throw shit at you without doing anything? I've seen worse than him."

"You should be scared! You don't know what he's capable of. He'll hurt you just to hurt me. Right now, he doesn't know you exist, and I plan on keeping it this way."

Bea drops Allie's hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious and selfish. She's putting Allie's life in danger and if she needs to coldly walk away to keep Allie safe, she'll do it in a heartbeat. Even if it kills her in the process.

"Don't you want him to pay for what he's done?" Allie asks in disbelief, interrupting Bea's gruesome thoughts.

"No," Bea answers with conviction. "I don't. Do not do anything. Are we gonna have a problem?"

It almost sounds like a threat, and Allie flinches back, wondering why Bea would try so hard to protect a man who doesn't deserve to be protected.

"Bea," Allie licks her lips, unsure how to say it in a way that won't make the other woman dash through the door. "he won't get to me."

"You're damn right, he won't! I won't let that happen," Bea shrugs. "So you stay away, alright? Stay as far as you can from him, I can deal with it."

Allie purses her lips, but doesn't reply. She wants to tell Bea that, obviously, she's having trouble dealing with it if she's hiding in this place with a knife in her hands, but she keeps her mouth shut, not wanting to add fuel to the fire.

"What did he tell you?" she asks instead.

 _The truth_ , Bea thinks, _nothing but the fucking truth._

She feels like she's back to the starting point. Like the past month and a half never existed.

"Debbie went to talk to him," she says painfully. How does she admit that she's a complete failure? "He told me I was a bad mother. He told me I was useless. because Debbie is…"

She can't even say the words without feeling like she might fall to the ground and never get up again. She wants to scream so loud that the words will break and turn to dust at her feet, and never haunt her again. She wants an earthquake to shake her universe until it is born again without its ugliness.

"Because you were right. She told Harry," Bea lets out. She should have listened to Allie instead of blaming the wrong person. "You were right, Debbie's using. Her boyfriend is helping her."

A lone tear slips from her left eye. It burns all the way down to her neck.

"She's becoming like me," Bea murmurs. "manipulated by some man who can't take care of her. This is what I did to her. I'm not a good mother. I never was, and this is the proof."

"She has a boyfriend? In the States?" Allie smiles encouragingly for Bea to continue. If Bea keeps talking, maybe it will distract her enough from the fact that she wants to run out of here and kill Harry with her own hands.

She could take a knife, but it would be messy. She could use her own fists, but she wouldn't be able to hide her battered hands afterwards. She could get access to a gun, but really, that'd be more trouble because she'd need to deal with some unpleasant people first. She could hit him with a car, but she'd need to make sure it can't be retraced to her. She could set his house on fire, but she'd need help, and fires aren't exactly the subtlest way to get to someone.

Really, there are so many ways she could hurt him, and she's going through every single one of them in her head, even if Bea has asked her to stay away.

"Brayden," Bea replies. "You should have seen her when she talked about him. She's in love with him. She believes he's right for him, but if he's really making her take all this shit, then he's not. He's destroying my little girl's life. Harry knows."

"Don't let his words get to you, Bea. You're not what he says," Allie insists. "And cutting isn't… it's not going to help."

"I don't know who I am anymore," Bea answers slowly.

She's confused between her many identities, and many strengths and weaknesses, and she isn't sure whether she has enough faith to believe in herself anymore. She'd thought she'd gone a long way, but apparently, it will never be far enough from him.

She wants to go back to that night at the diner, when she could just pretend to be invincible while she laughed with Allie.

She wants to go back to that day at the beach, when she would run in the sand and dance with the waves, and feel nothing but love.

She wants to go back to the first night she met Allie, when she couldn't differentiate teal from green, when she was offered a granola bar to calm her growling stomach, and when she didn't yet about today.

"I wish I wasn't right," Allie says slowly. "I wish I'd been wrong about Debbie."

Bea nods. So does she.

"But since we have determined that I'm always right," Allie smirks, "I think it's time you know the truth."

Bea throws a confused look at Allie, whose eyes turn serious and humble.

"You're Bea Smith." Allie smiles, turning so she can face Bea directly and seal their eyes together. "You think you're weak, but you're a survivor. You think you're boring, but I could listen to you talk about dust all day and I'd still be trapped under your charm. You think you're stupid, but you're planning your future and thinking of details I couldn't ever think of. You think you're ugly, but you forget that I could stare at you for hours and you'd only get prettier."

Allie pauses.

"You think you're a bad mother, but Debbie is a brilliant young woman and it's all because of you."

Allie looks around them at the emptiness, like she's telling Bea the secrets of the universe and she wants to make sure no one can hear them. It's vaguely amusing, but Bea couldn't care less. She wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

"You think you're useless, but I wouldn't be alive without you today."

Bea stops breathing for a moment.

"You think you're nothing, but you're everything to me."

Bea wants to say something, but Allie keeps talking.

"You think you're unloved, but…"

 _I'm falling deeper in love with you every day._

Allie lets the unspoken words travel from her mind to Bea's.

"That's who you are to me," Allie grins widely.

Bea loves who she is when Allie is here.

But the question remains in her brain, who is she, when Allie isn't here?

She'd thought she'd found herself, but she's only realizing now that she hasn't.

"Is it really how you see me?" she thinks out loud.

Allie nods like it is the most obvious fact in the world.

She glances at the clock once again and Allie notices it.

"Should we go?" Allie asks. She doesn't expect Bea to answer her almost love declaration. After all, Bea probably has a thousand things in her mind.

"Yeah. It's time I have a talk with Debbie," Bea sighs.

She doesn't tell Allie that they might be kicked out of Wentworth now. Not only has she spent the night out without warning anyone at the shelter, but her daughter is also taking drugs.

There's no way they'll let them stay.

"Will you be alright?"

Allie's voice is laced with worries. She's managed to help Bea tonight, but what about next time? She really hopes there isn't a next time.

"I think I will be," Bea replies.

She smiles until she arrives at Wentworth and faces the door.

"Thank you," she tells Allie with sincerity in her voice.

When Allie pulls her in a warm hug and promises to see her later, Bea imagines a world where they would never have to say goodbye.

* * *

Will Jackson is already waiting for her when she returns to Wentworth, past six o'clock in the morning. He lets her in and asks for her to come in the office for a few minutes. Bea knows too well what is about to happen.

Before he opens his mouth, she sees in his kind eyes that he doesn't want to do this, but he has no choice. She acts like she understands when he tells her with a sad voice that, according to the house's procedures, she must find a new place to stay within the next three days.

"You spent the night out, Liz told us that your daughter was here while she was high, and you are showing us a behavior that we do not tolerate here, I'm sorry."

"I didn't know about Debbie," Bea protests. "And I needed some alone time."

"I think we've bent the rules a lot for you before. We can't anymore," Will declares.

She is given a list of other shelters to contact during the day to see if they have any available space. She is told that if she finds an apartment and signs a lease, they'll keep her until she moves in. She has five days to find where to go.

She argues that they can't throw them away in the streets if she doesn't find a place, that it's cruel and unnecessary. Will replies that this isn't up for discussion. She didn't come back here last night, and it doesn't matter why. She knew the rules, and that they have always been very clear about them. Bea can't deny it. She knew them, she was well aware of the conditions for her to stay here.

She feels like she's truly ruined all her progress within a few hours, and that Debbie might hate her even more than she already does.

She'll need to focus on searching for a place to move now, if she doesn't want to find herself in another shelter. She'd hate that. Wentworth has been amazing for her, but she doesn't want to be the person that visits many shelters for months before she finds an ounce of stability in her life. It's too hard.

She hears Harry's words in her mind, calling her a bad mother and telling her she's ruined everything, again.

She hears Allie's voice yelling over his, telling her she's smart, and beautiful, and loved.

She tells herself everything will be alright.

* * *

They go to the movies after breakfast, because Bea figures it can't hurt to spend some good time with her daughter before she breaks the news that they're getting kicked out of the shelter soon.

She thinks it might lessen the blow, and then she remembers that it doesn't really matter. After all, it's a matter of days before Debbie leaves to go back to her boyfriend, to the gear that Bea would rather not know about, and to the twisted version of the American dream.

She laughs at the things that are happening on the giant screen, and she beams when she notices the carefree way Debbie follows, but her mind is preoccupied by the upcoming conversation she must have with her daughter. She spends half of the movie watching the characters without really caring about them, and the other half spying on Debbie's reactions to the story. She dozes off at some point, the lack of sleep finally catching up to her.

She is woken up by a piece of popcorn being thrown at her face by a blissful Debbie, and she chuckles along, loving this perfect moment.

It feels like a boring, normal, average morning, and it's all Bea has ever wanted. When they leave the movie theater and come back to Wentworth, Bea thinks that if she had to choose between a boring, normal, average morning or a never-ending roller coaster of emotions, she would pick boring everyday.

She waits until they are in her room, shielded from the universe outside and the looks of the other women living under the same roof. She waits long enough for them to forget there is another world outside of her bedroom. Anything she says will be trapped into this room, so when she leaves, it won't follow her.

"I'm leaving this place when you go back to the States," Bea parts her lips, breaking the comfortable silence they are wrapped in. She thinks of the right way to say it. "I was asked to find a new place to live."

Debbie looks up from her phone and frowns.

"Why?" she asks, tossing her device aside and sitting on the bed next to her mother.

"I didn't come back last night. It's forbidden," Bea answers sadly. "I knew it and I still broke the rule."

She doesn't mention the part where being intoxicated while staying there is also forbidden. She doesn't want to start a fight with her daughter already.

"They can do that? What if you want to, I don't know, have a life?" Debbie asks like this makes no sense. "You told them it was dumb, right? You know what, I'll tell them! They can't kick you out for stupid reasons!"

"Don't."

"Try and stop me! They think they can kick out my mom, they'll need to convince me first."

Debbie looks like she's about to fight for her mother to stay here, and Bea feels her heart flutter at the sight. She recognizes the daughter she's raised by telling her to always follow what she believes in. She recognizes the daughter who kept trying to protect her from the world even when it was never her responsibility.

Sometimes, she forgets that they've lived together for years, protecting each other against everything life threw at them.

At seven years old, Debbie had stood as tall as she could before Harry, telling him with a strong, high-pitched voice, to stop yelling at Bea.

Debbie is a warrior, just like her mother.

"I asked them to reconsider, but they didn't accept," Bea concedes. "I'm working on finding an apartment in the next days. With a little luck, you'll see it before you go back."

"I'll tell them they're pricks," Debbie stubbornly answers, getting out of the bed and heading to the door.

"Deb, come back here," Bea laughs. "You're not going to do anything, alright? I can find a place on time. I have three visits scheduled tomorrow. One of them must be right!"

Debbie groans in frustration, but she sits back to her place and looks at her mother in the eyes.

"What if they aren't? Where will you go?" she asks with a worried voice.

Suddenly, the thought of going back doesn't sound so appealing, especially when she knows her mother's life could be in danger. It feels like the past is repeating itself. She already feels guilty enough for leaving the first time, she would hate for that feeling to increase.

She's torn between the want to feel Brayden's arms around her again, and the need to stay with her mother to make sure she is alright.

It's all her existence has ever been about, really, being torn between what she wants and what she needs to do. Being unable to voice her truest thoughts because she's always been scared of her parents' reactions. Being stuck in-between, choosing sides every day and feeling like she can never make the right choice. Being unable to move forward because she's too busy trying to fix the past.

She knows she's prioritized her mother's happiness over her own for years, only to feel more and more crushed by the weight of this responsibility. For once in her life, she wishes she could do something she wants, instead of looking out after someone else. It may sound selfish, but she's tired, exhausted of living this life.

She hadn't realized how heavy it had all been, until she'd arrived to another continent, where she'd been free to make her own choices, to live her own life, to make her own dreams come true. Leaving had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, but it might have been the one thing that had saved her life.

"Another shelter, maybe," Bea says hesitantly. "I haven't thought about it. I want to focus on finding my own place."

"But what if you don't find it!"

"What if I do? Hm?" Bea looks at Debbie affectively and brushes her hair lightly. "Then you'll have panicked for no reason. Let me take care of this."

Debbie pouts and crosses her arms against her chest, but she knows her mother is right. There's so much more she wishes she could do, but she won't. She won't risk falling back into a toxic pattern of ignoring her own needs over someone else's, even her mother's. She has found the authentic version of herself, and she'll hold on to it as hard as she can.

She is Debbie Smith, an independent woman who has dreams of her own and beliefs she won't betray. She cares for the world and she fights for what she thinks is right, and she doesn't give up until she's forced to. She laughs at silly movies, and cries when a dog dies, and howls at the moon when two people she loves get together. She wants to change the world after she's done studying and she feels invincible when she reads a good book.

She also loves who she is, who she becomes in the arms of her boyfriend, when her mind is clouded by the strangest substances she is offered.

"You'll tell me the truth, right mom? If you can't find a place? No embellished version or half-truths. I can take it now," she mutters. "I'm not a little child anymore, you don't have to protect me."

Bea giggles like she's the child between the two of them.

"I'm your mother. You'll always be a little child I have to protect," she smiles fondly, thinking that Debbie will never understand it unless she becomes a mother herself. "You'll always be my beautiful daughter."

No matter what choices Debbie makes, no matter how far Debbie leaves, no matter how ugly their fights get, Bea will love her daughter to the moon and back forever.

"I can be your beautiful _adult_ daughter," Debbie grins. "I'm serious. Don't treat me like I'll break at the first obstacle."

Bea places one of her arm around her daughter's shoulders. Of course, Bea will always treat her like she's fragile. It's her duty. It has been ever since this bundle of joy came out of her body and into her life, years ago.

But if Debbie wants to be treated like an adult, Bea won't miss the opportunity to bring up a subject she's had on her mind for the past hours.

"Is that why you went to see your father? To prove to me I can trust you?"

The words bite, but Bea pronounces them as gently as she can, letting Debbie know that she isn't trying to start a fight. She's tried the hard way before, the confrontation and the blame, and the control, and it hasn't worked. She isn't foolish enough to make the same mistakes twice. The only way she'll get anywhere with Debbie is by listening to her, truly listening to her.

And Debbie has said too many times that she didn't want to leave her father behind.

Bea thinks she has to finally accept it, or she'll lose Debbie.

"Don't be mad," Debbie sighs. She expected to be asked about it so she isn't surprised, but she still hopes that she hasn't ruined everything between the two of them.

"I'm not!" Bea protests, shaking her head negatively slowly.

"You're lying to me," Debbie smirks, reading in her mother's eyes. "You're pissed, aren't you?"

"Well, I'm not happy about it, but I'm not mad at you," Bea explains with the smallest smile. She can do this. She can tell Debbie her opinion without screaming and losing control. She nudges Debbie's shoulder. "I wish you would have told me."

"You would have stopped me. And don't try to deny it, I know you. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't think I'd go back many times, but I missed him. I wanted to make sure he was alright. He's my dad," she pleads with sad eyes. "I told you mom, I don't want to lose him."

Bea nods and blinks a few times, taming the boiling feelings in her stomach. The beast inside of her narrows its eyes, but doesn't move.

"I met him. He wanted to talk about the divorce," Bea says. "He told me he wanted another chance, but I wouldn't have it. We're over, your father and I. We'll never be back together, I want you to know that, so there's no ambiguity."

"I'm good with that," Debbie nods, her chest heavy with emotions. "I never wanted you to stay with him, I just didn't want to have to choose between you and him."

"I know, Deb," Bea replies, the idea of freedom dancing in her eyes. "And I'm sorry that I did that to you."

Her parents are long gone, but she can't imagine having to choose between them. She'd torture herself to death simply to try and make a choice. She'd cry and lock herself in a room until the end of times.

"I know you love him," she admits difficulty. It pains her to say it, but she can't pretend like she doesn't know anymore. "I know you don't want to stop seeing him, and I understand that now. I might not like it… and I might worry until you give me a sign of life… and I might want to decide how much time you spend with him, but I won't stop you."

Debbie listens carefully to her mother's words, her soul aching when she sees how much her mother cares about her. She knows it's a decisive moment in their lives.

"I just ask you to tell me when you see him because I need to know," Bea states like it's a life or death question. "I won't let him destroy my relationship with you, not when I can prevent it."

She doesn't trust him, and she knows he's dangerous, but she trusts her daughter to still make the right choices when it comes to her father. She knows Debbie wouldn't deliberately put her life in danger around Harry. She knows Debbie wouldn't walk into the wolf's den without warning someone first.

Debbie's right. She's an adult now, and Bea needs to live with it.

Bea knows too well that if she tries and stops her daughter, if she tries and fights her daughter, she will lose her. She won't ever know where Debbie is. She'll spend her entire life worrying and mourning the loss of her daughter.

"There's something else," Bea declares.

She takes a deep breath. The words are hard to pronounce, but they are even harder to keep inside of her. She feels like she might be making a mistake, like she's on the edge of dropping a bomb in her quiet bedroom.

"He said some things about you- you and Brayden," she starts carefully, suffocating on every syllable that comes out of her mouth. "I'm going to give you a chance to tell me yourself."

She stares hard at Debbie like she has a mission to accomplish, even if she feels she would rather be buried alive than to hear the confirmation of her worst fears.

"Don't tell me half-truths," she mirrors Debbie's previous words, hoping it will be enough to convince her daughter. She can barely breathe right now, she won't be able to listen to lies without drifting into madness.

Debbie stares straight ahead, to the wall where all their family pictures are taped carefully. She swims amongst images of her past and dives into the blurred memories. She jumps head first into her broken childhood and then, she drowns herself in the way she's felt ever since she met Brayden.

"What did he say?" she murmurs.

She thinks of the fog in her head and the occasional smoke around her, and the way everything is suddenly clear in her brain when she has a pill in her throat and alcohol in her stomach.

She thinks of the sound of Brayden's voice and the hypnotizing way he looks at her like she's the only one that truly matters in this world.

She thinks of how special she feels when she's with him, like she belongs on this Earth and that she deserves to be alive to see another day.

"I want you to tell me," Bea says, hands nervous and sweating, anticipating Debbie's words. "Please."

"I told you about Brayden. I- I didn't tell you what we did," Debbie stammers.

She turns her eyes to her mother. Maybe if she looks at her long enough, she can reassure her that it isn't as bad as it will sound like. Maybe she can make her believe in lies while she speaks the truth.

"We started talking, and – " she stops, smiles like someone would when they are in love. "He found me when no one was even looking for me. He made me feel alive."

Bea fights the tears in her eyes and swallows the lump in her throat. She wants to cry so badly that her entire body hurts. She doesn't want Debbie to become like her.

"He asked me out and we had fun, and it was easy to be with him," Debbie continues, her eyes fixated on her mother's. She reads the fear held in Bea's eyes. "He made me forget about a lot of things and eventually, he came to my room and he had some… he offered me some drugs."

Bea closes her eyes and focuses on slowing her quickening breath. She hadn't expected how hard it would be to hear Debbie say it herself.

If she were made of glass, she would be shattered in pieces now, forever impossible to fix.

"I tried them. It was just for fun. It is still just for fun, believe it or not. I'm not an addict," Debbie shrugs. "I have it under control."

"You think you have it under control, but you don't know that," Bea exhales. "Everyone thinks they have it under control, until they don't anymore."

"I have it under control," Debbie repeats strongly. "I'm not using every day. I'm not taking the big ones. It's just weed and…"

She stops talking, realizing what's about to come out of her mouth.

It's just weed and some ecstasy once in a while. It's just weed and some occasional lines of cocaine. It's just some hallucinogens that make her travel to wonderland every week. It's just a couple of unknown pills on a Friday night. It's just a couple of drinks during a party that never ends.

She can stop whenever she wants, really.

Except yesterday. And the day before. And the day before.

And really, she doesn't want to stop.

"I'm careful, mom," she says heartfully. "I really am."

She doesn't tell her mother that she was promised heroin once she gets back to Brayden, and that she can't wait to try it. She's heard so many things about the big H, so many terrible things, but she's never been more excited to try a substance before.

"I don't want you to take these drugs anymore," Bea pleads, holding Debbie's hands in hers. They're warm, and she doesn't ever want to hold cold, lifeless limbs instead. "It's dangerous. Whatever you need, however you feel with them, it's temporary. You can't base your happiness on drugs. They'll betray you, sooner than later."

"I'm careful!" Debbie protests, her voice biting into her mother's calm demeanour. "This is why I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd freak out. Dad just told me to call him if I needed help, he didn't start shoving advices down my throat!"

"Why did he do this? Why did he bring you drugs? He can't be taking care of you like that," Bea says, eyes shooting bullets. She isn't freaking out. She's doing her job to protect her daughter, like she always has. She doesn't care how Harry reacted, he's shit regardless. "Deb, if he hurts you, if he threatens you -"

"Not everyone is like dad!" Debbie interrupts harshly. "Brayden's not like dad. You've never met him."

Bea smiles sadly. She doesn't need to meet Brayden to know that he isn't someone she wants around her daughter. She doesn't need to meet him to know that she wants him as far from Debbie as possible.

She wants anyone feeding her daughter drugs gone, far away.

"A guy that gives you drugs isn't the perfect boyfriend," Bea argues. "Did he force you? You can tell me if he did."

"No!" Debbie yells, offended by the idea, jumping from the bed and standing before her mother. "I took them because I wanted to. I told you before, he's good for me."

So what if she took some pills? It doesn't make her a victim.

"Deb," Bea reaches to take Debbie's hand, but the younger woman snatches it out of reach and a flash of hurt appears in Bea's eyes. "I want the best for you. These drugs, you might love them now, but trust me, they'll ruin your life if you don't stop."

"I will stop. I promise," Debbie smiles, begging her mother to listen.

She's changed her mother's mind regarding her father, maybe she can do it too for the drugs. Maybe she can convince her mother that it's just a small part of her life, that it doesn't define who she is, no more than Harry's beatings define Bea.

"You're not listening to me," Bea says like it's one minute before midnight.

" _You're_ not listening," Debbie frowns. "Do you even trust me?"

"Of course, I do. But you're alone and I sent you there, and I think I made a bad decision."

"Aren't you pleased that I'm good now? Do you want me to call you everyday and tell you I'm fine? I'll do it. You can even talk to my boyfriend. He'll be thrilled to meet you, and then you'll see he's fine. Please mom, can you at least wait before you judge us?"

Bea exhales deeply. She could wait, but she doesn't want to.

"I want you to be aware of what you're doing. You're taking drugs. It's a serious issue, and your boyfriend doesn't even try to stop you. I don't want you to become like me."

When Debbie laughs, it's cruel, and cold, but her eyes are soft when they land on Bea's.

"Mom, don't you see it? You left dad. You left an abusive husband. If anything, I want to be as strong as you when I'm your age… But I won't have to be, because Brayden is nothing like dad."

"Deb-"

"I love you mom, I really do and I care about what happens to you. I want you to be safe. I want you to be loved. I want you to be happy. But you won't decide how I should live my life. You should know well enough how it feels when someone tries to control your life."

"What if I wait, Deb? What if I wait and then something terrible happen? I can't take this risk. I'm your mother," Bea pleads.

"You're my mother, but you don't get to control who I date," Debbie frowns. "Or what I do. Believe it or not, Brayden saved me."

Debbie doesn't give Bea enough time to answer.

"I'm going to stay with dad for now," she confesses. "Trust me. Please. And find a place to live, I don't want to see you in the streets, alright?"

She turns around and she leaves the room quickly without a second glance.

Bea wonders how someone can close the door so angrily without slamming it.

She wonders why love hurts so much.

* * *

What if Bea hates her?

What if Bea never forgives her?

What if Bea doesn't see that she's doing it all for the greater good?

Allie shakes those thoughts out of her mind, convincing herself that there's nothing wrong with getting revenge for the woman she cares about. Surely, Bea won't reject her for doing the right thing.

Allie pulls the hood over her head and walks quietly inside the abandoned building, her hands buried in the pockets of her sweater. A few women are there already and glance curiously toward her. She recognizes a few of them and takes a nervous step in their direction. She hasn't come back to this place since she's left the alley, and she's scared she might not belong here anymore.

Mel Barrett engulfs her in a warm hug and Allie smiles when she recognizes the familiar scent of an old friend. Allie might have been Kaz's closest friend, but Mel had always been the one chosen as Kaz's successor should something happen to the Red Right Hand's leader.

Mel gestures to the group to surround her, and the informal meeting of what is left of the Red Right Hand begins. She questions the group on different matters, some related to their organization, and some related to their personal lives. Just like Kaz, she asks everyone to stay out of trouble for the time being and shares her thoughts regarding some of the hot spots in the city.

Allie is amazed by how quickly things change. Three members are dating, two are stubbornly avoiding all contacts with men, one is engaged, and even one woman is thinking of moving out of the country. Most of them still consider their glorious years to be the ones they spent with Kaz, beating up those they felt who deserved it, but they're moving on, slowly, to a life on the legal side.

Just like she is.

Allie almost feels bad when she raises her hand to speak near the end of the meeting, but she reminds herself that it's all for a greater cause, for justice, and that it is all the Red Right Hand was created for. She opens her mouth and starts talking under the judging eyes of the other members.

She tells them about her motivations, her emotions, and then moves on to more logical arguments and reasons why Harry is the perfect victim for the Red Right Hand. If, at first, most women jump in for a chance to stretch their muscles again, Allie's request is quickly put on hold by Mel.

"We told Kaz we'd stay out of trouble, don't you remember?" she whispers in Allie's ear as the women around them get excited at the idea of serving justice again.

"This is different," Allie replies, almost pleading. "It's for family. I know Kaz would understand."

"Have you asked her?"

Allie doesn't reply, and Mel shakes her head hastily.

"I can't risk sending all those women to prison because you have a plan. It can't just be a quick decision anymore. You have to really think this through. Do you even know what you want to do?"

Allie doesn't know. She'd figured she could brainstorm ideas with her old crew, but she's starting to think she might have to plan out the details by herself. It's fine, she's done it before, and she's ready to do it again for Bea.

Assaulting Harry when he least expects it sounds like the easy solution, but Allie doubts that she'll be able to get away easily if she gets caught. She can't risk it. Kaz would kill her inside the walls of the prison, and she'd never be able to face Bea again. She needs a smarter idea, one that can hurt Harry without actually sending him to the hospital. She needs an idea that won't make her _become_ Harry.

"If I think about it and come up with something safe, can I count on you?" she asks, her neurons sending sparks to all parts of her brain.

"Come up with an idea first," Mel answers, "then we can talk. But if there is so much as one tiny flaw to your plan, we're out. This won't be our crime, it'll be yours."

"It isn't a crime," Allie fires back. "It's justice."

Some might say that it's a messed-up view of justice, but Allie doesn't care. She's seen too much shit to change her mind. She'll take care of Harry herself because she knows that in situations of domestic violence, victims rarely get what they deserve.

And Bea deserves everything.

* * *

Bea wants to be anywhere else but here.

Ever since they told her that she has to find a new place to live, she's decided that Wentworth doesn't want her to thrive and succeed in life; they are barbarians who just want to control women with their own rules. They want to help, but they're ready to kick her out whenever they please. They are freaking prison guards in disguise.

Fine, maybe she's overreacting, but she's angry at the world because of her recent conversation with Debbie, so she crosses her arms and looks at Bridget defiantly when she steps in the office for her meeting. She wishes she could have cancelled it, but Bridget had made sure to confirm their meeting yesterday, and it's too late to cancel without making it obvious that she's lying. She makes it her goal to participate as minimally as possible.

She finds solace in the fact that this might be her last meeting before her departure from here. Wentworth has been helpful, but she was never meant to last long in such restrictive environment.

She looks at the small room where they're meeting and frowns. Bridget is sitting on a chair, facing two empty ones. One chair is large, big enough for Bea to sit without problem and be comfortable for the duration of the meeting. The other one is tiny. It's tiny, and pink, and in plastic, and Bea is sure that this is more an infant's chair rather than anything else.

She hopes Bridget won't ask her to sit on it, or she might break it, or worse, remains stuck in here forever. She eyes it suspiciously as she sits on the bigger chair, and she hears Bridget chuckles quietly. She doesn't know why it's so funny, but she wishes she knew so she wouldn't feel so left out.

"Hi Bea, I'm pleased to see you today," Bridget says, her formal smile plastered on her face like always.

Bea nods, not wanting to waste her voice on what she feels are irrelevant greetings.

"How are you?"

"As good as I can be when I was told I need to leave soon," Bea sighs, not willing to go into the details of the reasons why she's having a terrible day.

Debbie has been unreachable ever since their fight, and Bea is starting to think that she will never speak to her daughter again until it is time for them to go their separate ways. Debbie is more stubborn than she is.

"I'm sure you understand why we did that," Bridget responds professionally. "We have always been very clear with you. I know it's difficult for you, but I can assure you that we will support you for as long as you're with us. Any day or night, you can come see us, and if you want to keep working with us once you're somewhere else, we can discuss your options."

Bea nods again, a bit annoyed at the same speech she's given every time. She hasn't decided if she wants to keep coming here once she's gone. She knows that if she doesn't come back, she will miss everyone she has met recently.

How could she ever say farewell to the people who have brought her this far from her old life?

"How's Franky?" Bea asks, looking at Bridget like she's aware she's crossing a line.

She doesn't give a fuck.

"I won't talk of my personal life here, Bea," Bridget warns slowly.

"What? I find you with your tongue down Franky's throat and I don't get an explanation? I bet all those rules just don't mean anything when it comes to you?"

"I understand your frustration, but if you don't stop right now, we'll put an end to this meeting and I won't see you until you leave."

Bridget's tone hints Bea that she doesn't want to end this meeting.

Bea sighs loudly, but she gestures for Bridget to keep going.

"Today, we'll do something a bit different than usual," Bridget continues with stars in her eyes, like she's about to reveal her greatest trick to Bea. "It's something I do when I've worked with someone for a while. You might be confused at first, but I assure you, I won't let you face this experiment alone. What we're going to do today is commonly called 'impact therapy' and it allows you to face what you've been through in a different way."

Bea doesn't want to face that she's been through in a different way, but she figures she can humor Bridget one last time before she walks away.

"It's really important that you want to participate for this to work. So if, for any reason, you don't want to be here today, you can tell me and it will be a normal meeting instead," Bridget explains.

Bea shrugs. It doesn't change anything to her, she'll still have to answer some questions, so she might as well play this strange game.

"Are you sure?" Bridget asks again.

"Just start already," Bea rolls her eyes.

Bridget seems to think about it for a second before she accepts.

"As you can see," Bridget points to the chair, "it won't be only the two of us today. You've brought someone."

Bea listens attentively.

"I want you to imagine that a little girl is sitting on this chair. This girl is you, when you were, let's say eight years old. Eight years old Bea is sitting here right now, looking at you and listening to this conversation."

Bea quirks an eyebrow curiously. This is something she wasn't expecting.

"Tell me, Bea, what is this little girl like? Describe her to me."

"Wh-What do you mean?" Bea asks, taken back by the strange request.

"Let's start with something easy. What is she wearing?"

Bea opens her mouth, but no sound comes out as she thinks of the answer. Many images come to her mind, memories from when she really was eight years old. She isn't sure whether Bridget really wants to know, or what the point of this therapy is supposed to be, but she plays along, assuming it can't be so bad.

She wonders if everyone is going through this at some point during their stay here.

She thinks of a child version of her friends and she smiles.

Franky would have been a badass with tons of stickers. Maxine would have been playing with Boomer, and Allie? Allie would have already been flirting with all the girls, Bea has no doubt about it.

"She's wearing dark blue jeans and a red shirt with a hole in her sleeve."

She always used to play a little too much with scissors, cutting holes into everything she could get her hands on. She loved art, all forms of it. It drove her mother insane.

"What else?" Bridget asks. "Describe her to me as best as you can. So I can see like you do in your head."

"She's wearing black socks and bright blue running shoes with glitter on the sole. She has her hair flying around her shoulders because she hates having a ponytail. She has this look in her eyes like she's ready to conquer the world, but she still needs her mom next to her at the end of the day."

"Does she wear glasses, jewelry, any distinctive sign? How is her hair? Is she tall, short, average? Is she injured, or does she have superficial wounds on her skin?"

"No. She stole her mom's makeup once and it ended badly, so no jewelry or anything," Bea chuckles to herself. "She has long curly hair that are more brown than red at this age. She's taller than most of her classmates at this age. She might have a few scratches on her elbows from that time she played outside and fell on the ground."

She'd spent hours outside, chasing butterflies and capturing the smallest ants in her hands.

She can't remember how many times she ended up with random wounds everywhere on her body.

"Are you starting to see her?" Bridget asks with a serious tone.

Bea squints her eyes and thinks that she can imagine her, sitting on this chair, smiling innocently at the two adults who speaks about her. She can see her poking her thumb through the hole in her sleeve and accidently tearing the fabric a bit more. It's strange, but yes, Bea can see it.

"Is she sitting still, or does she have difficulty to stay in place?" Bridget asks.

"She's calm. She isn't trouble at this age," Bea recalls, speaking as if the child version of herself is right in front of her.

It's a strange experiment, and she wonders if she might be hallucinating, but when she blinks, the silhouette is blurred and vaguely transparent, and Bea knows that everything that is happening is only a product of her powerful imagination.

"Is she looking at us?"

"She's looking at me. She doesn't like strangers much," Bea remembers. She has no trouble imagining a pair of eyes staring at her without blinking for several seconds.

Her mother always told her not to talk to strangers, and she'd followed this rule religiously.

"Does she have anything in her hands?" Bridget wonders. She wants this to be as detailed as possible. She won't start asking the loaded questions until she is certain that Bea can see a child version of herself as clearly as she can see the blue sky outside. She needs Bea to really, _really_ , see.

"Maybe?" Bea isn't sure. She'd always fiddled with something or carried her favorite plush toy with her, but she isn't sure she would have brought anything to such a peculiar meeting.

"I need a definitive answer," Bridget smiles kindly. "Remember, you can see her, and I can't. You're the only one who can tell me what she is doing."

"She isn't holding anything," Bea frowns, the lines between reality and illusions blurring a bit more.

Bridget nods, satisfied with the way Bea participates in the meeting. She'd feared that Bea would not want to say a single word today. She had heard the way Bea's door had closed this morning, and she had been the one to open the front door to a furious-looking Debbie. She had decided not to ask Bea about this, because she knew that impact therapy could do a better job than a normal question.

"Let's call her 'small Bea' and say that she is talking," Bridget takes it a step farther. "What is she saying?"

Bea looks at the chair. She imagines all the details she's enumerated coming together to form a small human being. Small Bea. It almost feels real for a moment.

"She's telling me I look old," Bea scoffs. "Which is so unfair because that's exactly how she's going to look like in a couple of years."

She might have been shy when she was young, but it didn't mean she would keep her thoughts to herself in front of well-known friends and foes.

"What does her voice sound like?"

"Like she spent the entire day yelling and she's tired," Bea describes. "Which is probably what she did. She's at this age where she can imagine the most wonderful tales in her head, and re-enact them in real life. She's probably spent the day screaming around in the backyard."

"How is she?"

"How ar – " Bea stops talking and blinks several times.

She lets out a small laugh and runs her hand in her hair embarrassingly. She almost asked a chair 'how are you', and she feels ridiculous, and the enchantment breaks. She's back in the office, with Bridget and an empty plastic chair facing her.

"Ask her," Bridget says like it's obvious. "You won't know the answer until you do."

Bea shakes her head in disbelief. This is stupid. She won't do that. She won't make a fool of herself, talking to a chair and pretending like she can go back to the past when she should be focusing on the future.

"Come on, Bea, you won't let it end so drastically?" Bridget asks in a raspy voice. "It's rude."

"It's not rude! It's a chair."

"How would you react if someone just walked out on you?"

Bea pretends to be offended, but really, she's so confused that she might as well stop trying to act like she knows what she's doing. She might as well play this game until the end while she's at it. Let her assume her craziness, and whatever comes out of it.

"How are you?" she thinks out loud, directing her question at the chair.

It takes a second, but she thinks she can imagine the dark jeans and the red shirt appearing again.

She thinks she hears a voice whispering in her ear, and it sounds vaguely familiar, like she's spent years being friends with that sound, only to forget it a little too soon.

Like it used to be her best friend, and now, they're only strangers trying too hard to reconnect.

Like it's a side of her that she's abandoned a little too early.

"She's good. She's hungry, she hasn't had a snack yet," Bea answers.

"What shall we give her?"

"She likes everything, but she has a sweet tooth," Bea grins.

Bridget smiles and gets up, leaving the office for a few minutes.

Bea is left alone with this memory that feels a little too real, a little too hard on her.

She wonders why she abandoned that part of her.

She wishes she could take it back. She misses it. This part of her was innocent, forever joyful and eternally optimist.

Bridget comes back with a box of chocolate chips cookies.

"How many?"

"Two."

Bridget opens the box, takes out two cookies and lets them rest on the chair. All Bea sees are two cookies resting on the lap of a little girl whose smile is getting larger by the minute.

"What now?" Bridget asks.

"She wants more," Bea deadpans as the blonde laughs.

Bridget shakes her head negatively.

"Now, beside the need to eat sugar, does she have any question for you?"

Bea thinks a little, but she is surprised at how quickly the answer comes to her mind. She doesn't know why it's so surprising, after all, she knows that little girl better than anyone else. She has no difficulty hearing her, reading her mind, and anticipating answers to questions that have yet to be asked.

"She wants to know if I have a dog in the future."

"Well, do you? Don't let a child wait for an answer," Bridget grins, encouraging the conversation.

She sees the way Bea's eyes are getting more and more focused on the plastic chair, and she knows Bea is hooked into this improvisation.

"I don't, but I want one." Bea pauses for a second, listening to something Bridget can't hear. "I know it's taking forever, but having a dog isn't supposed to be an impulsive decision!" she protests to herself. "It's not like I could keep it in here."

She looks like whatever answers she receives is ridiculous as she scoffs again, rolling her eyes.

Bridget shakes her head amusedly.

"Don't fight with her," she warns. "We're not done yet and it would be a shame for her to leave. She asked you a question, now Bea, do you have anything you want to tell her?"

Bea hums as she thinks. She can think of a few things, and she remembers wishing she could be travel back in time just so she could tell herself some precious information, but now that she has a chance to, she wants to stay quiet. She wants to let her younger self live happily without fearing the future. She doesn't want to scare her off into thinking everyone she meets will ruin her life.

She doesn't want to ruin her childhood and steal her life before the real monster does.

She doesn't want to risk having her own self not believing in love at such a young age.

This child Bea, she's at an age where she believes in fairy tales and happy endings, and yet still thinks kissing boys is the most disgusting thing that could ever happen to her. She's at that age where she fights with her crush and acts like she will never love boys because they're her enemies forevermore.

"Just be happy?" Bea offers. "Just be happy and keep dreaming," she repeats with more conviction. She thinks she sees eight years old Bea nodding with enthusiasm and it warms her heart and chases the omnipresent pain away.

She wants her younger self to keep running freely at recess, to keep reading her first books like she's discovering the treasures of this world, to keep drawing small yellow suns with bright crayons on the top corner of her sheet of paper.

She wants her younger self to keep cutting holes in the sleeves of her favorite shirts, to keep acting like the planet is her blank canvas, to keep laughing at the stupid little things that would make an adult frown.

"What are her dreams?"

Bridget hopes that she isn't going too far. She's asking the hard questions much faster than she'd expected, but Bea seems lost in the past already.

"Oh," Bea grins. "that's easy. She wants a dog. She wants to go to space. She wants to eat cotton candy everyday. She wants to draw on everything, with everything. She wants her mother to always read her a story at night because then it isn't a good night. She wants her best friend to stay her best friend until they both die of old age."

Typical dreams for an eight years old child, really, Bea thinks before she remembers something.

"She wants to beat death," Bea whispers. "She's small, but she's wise. She's scared she'll wake up one day and that her parents aren't going to be there anymore, and that she won't know what to do."

She remembers when she lost her parents, a few months only after she'd met Harry. They died in a car accident, and she keeps wondering if her life could have been different, had they still lived to see this day. It had been unexpected and brutal, and she'd spent years wondering why it had to happen to such good people. She'd spent years healing, and forgiving, but never forgetting.

"What do you say to that?" Bridget asks, careful to pay attention to Bea's non-verbal cues. She's ready to bring her back to reality at the first sign that she's losing control on this situation.

"Don't fear death, you're way too young for that," Bea sighs. "They'll stay around for a while and they'll love you as much as they can. They'll make sure you know that you're loved, even when you feel that they hate you."

She tears up.

"Then they'll go, but they'll never leave you."

She remembers when she'd received the news. She'd been lying on her bed on a Saturday night, reading a book that she hasn't been able to read again to this day, and she'd heard the phone rings. The sound had been extremely loud for such a quiet evening, and she had had a bad feeling before she'd even touched the phone.

She remembers the calm, professional voice so well that she could recognize it if she heard it again today.

It sounded a little too cold, and it gave her a little too much pain, and it broke her a little too hard.

"What does she answer?" Bridget insists gently.

"That she isn't too young," Bea replies. "That she'd rather fear death because it makes her want to fight to avoid it. It makes her want to fight. But I know better than her. One day, you won't fear death anymore, because you'll know the truth."

She hesitates before she continues.

How does she tell a child that there are so many worse things than death?

She decides not to say a word, but Bridget seems to hear the unspoken words.

"What is she doing now?" Bridget interrupts the dark turn of the conversation.

It works.

Bea still gazes at the pink chair like she's really talking to someone, and Bridget knows that if she were to take that chair away, Bea would probably accuse her of hurting the imaginary child sitting on it.

She's seen it with a lot of women. They start this meeting like they won't ever believe in a word she says, but they end up so captivated by the situation that they forget this is all coming from their own mind, and that no one really sits in front of them.

Some of the women have asked to keep the chair. Some have asked that she takes it away.

But they need it, they need this moment to realize what really matters.

"She's telling me I'm too dramatic. She says if this is who she becomes in the future, then she will try her best to avoid becoming me," Bea directs her eyes to the ceiling. "She's being stubborn, just like I know she is."

"She can't see the future. She doesn't know what will happen yet. Do you wish to tell her?"

Bea finally looks at Bridget like she's seeing her for the first time since she stepped into this room.

"Should I?" She really doesn't know.

If she tells her, is this Bea going to run away and never come back? Is she going to blame her and tell her she's ruined their chance at a happy ending? Is she going to be so mad that she'll never forgive her older self?

"That's not something I can answer for you," Bridget replies lowly.

Bea thinks, and thinks, and she can't find the right answer. She doesn't think a right answer even exists.

If she doesn't tell this eight years old Bea, then the same story is going to happen. The same pain, the same losses, the same rotten fate.

If she tells her, then it will still happen, because nothing can change the past. It will still be the same events, the same fateful call on a quiet Saturday night, the same charming young man that she'll meet on a day at school, the same extraordinary meeting she'll have on a random night, in a dark park.

She decides to tell her. Not everything, but some.

"You'll meet someone when you're older. A young man. He'll be charming and handsome, and he'll say just the right things for you to be attracted to him."

She imagines small Bea making a face and she laughs.

"You'll be older, and you'll want to chase that feeling of love too. Boys won't be so awful anymore. He'll be just there, waiting for you. He'll be nice. He'll treat you well."

She imagines small Bea looking at her like she's describing an ideal future, and she hates to break her young, tiny heart.

She can't tell her everything. She doesn't want to, and she shouldn't either.

Sometimes, it's just best not to know what's going to happen.

"You'll have a beautiful daughter," she smiles dreamily, head in the clouds and eyes lost in memories. "You'll love her like you've never loved anyone else, and you'll protect her like you've never protected anyone else."

Debbie crosses her mind.

She loves her daughter so much that it hurts.

She wishes love could be enough to protect someone from a terrible destiny. She wishes loving someone meant she would never hurt them. But is it quite the opposite. It seems the more she loves Debbie, the more she hurts her. Just like it seems the more Harry pretended to love her, the more he hurt her.

Love isn't as flawless and beautiful as some says.

Sometimes, it hurts, and it's sad, and it doesn't work out.

"Things will change," she exhales deeply. "But you'll find – "

She interrupts herself, shocked by the sudden revelation that everything she's doing, every word she's saying has a purpose.

Bridget smiles when she sees the realization appear on Bea's features.

Bea looks like she's going to pass out, but Bridget is here, with her calm voice and her smile that brings the redhead down to Earth.

"What is she going to find?"

"The courage to make the right choices," Bea murmurs, her eyes focusing on the chair again. "You'll be brave. You'll become hard, and you'll hurt like you've never hurt before, but you'll find a way to protect yourself and your daughter, even when you decide to stay. You'll realize that you're so much stronger than you ever thought. You'll realize that… this relationship is not who you are. You're so much more than that. You might not believe it at first, but you'll meet the right people, and they will help you."

 _You're freaking invincible._

"Can you blame her for making the choices you know she'll make?"

Bea smirks because she sees in Bridget's game now. She knows the purpose of this whole meeting, the reason why she was asked to describe herself with so many details. It's to make this as realistic as possible, because she needs to believe in everything that is happening.

She needs to believe in every word that she says.

She needs to believe in every single word she says.

And she does.

"No. I can't blame her. It isn't her fault. It never will be."

It feels like she's lived a thousand lives, just to be able to say those words.

"It isn't her fault. She's done nothing wrong." She turns to the chair. She thinks she sees the person leaving. Her eyes widen, and she extends her hand to stop it, but she touches air and she can't do anything, but speak louder. "You'll make the right choices, even when it feels hopeless. You'll get out of this. There'll be another job. There'll be another place to stay. There'll be friends and family. The bleedings will stop, and the hurt will go, and the scars will heal."

Bea pauses, grasping for air as she closes her eyes and mentally pleads that this isn't over.

She has so much to say. So much hope to give. So much happiness to share.

This child needs to know that her life will be a good one, despite everything.

"Even when you feel like it's over, even when you feel like it's never going to get better, you'll still fight, because you can't be broken, not the way he wants you to be," she declares with a newfound power in her voice.

So, this is who she is. This is her true self.

Gosh. It feels heavenly to find herself again.

"She's leaving. She's running outside to play in the sun. You have one more thing to tell her, what is it?" Bridget whispers.

Bea feels the panic being born in her chest, and the adrenaline rushes through her body as if she really were in a rush to yell the most important words before is it too late. The contours of small Bea's body are slowly disappearing, vanishing into thin air, and Bea thinks she can't lose her without revealing her the greatest truth she knows.

"You're going to meet…" she shuts her lips when she thinks of Allie.

How can she describe Allie to her younger self? Words aren't enough to explain how beautiful Allie's soul is. Words would be an insult to Allie's true nature. Words were created to describe things, to explain the world, not to feel it in its purest way. The second she uses words, she loses details that are too important to ignore.

Whatever she says, whatever she thinks, it doesn't compare to the wild fire burning inside her chest whenever the blonde crosses her mind.

It doesn't compare to the aching need to be closer to Allie, so close that she might not be able to tell them apart.

Is it wrong to think this way? Is it wrong to want someone so badly? She doesn't mind if it is.

She can't wait anymore. Her younger self is looking at her with huge questioning eyes, like she is waiting to hear the ultimate revelation, and Bea needs to say it out loud, needs these words to come to life. She needs to say those words because if her eight years old self doesn't know, then she might give up before the most magical thing happen in her life, and Bea doesn't want to lose that.

Doesn't want to lose the chance to meet Allie again.

To feel those things again.

To live again.

Bea opens and closes her mouth too many times to count, forgetting the words and nearly losing her balance as she stands up, as if this would slow the disappearance of the ghost of her past.

"You're going to meet someone," she simply says, letting her eyes lingers on the now empty space, "and you'll find out what real love is."

* * *

Bea is walking next to Allie and she's feeling awfully good after her meeting with Bridget. She never believed in therapy and in its silly techniques, but she has to admit that her trip down memory lane really helped her make sense of what truly matters.

It felt strange at first, to talk to herself, as if her young self could really see her. It felt stupid and she just talked so Bridget wouldn't insist and annoy the hell out of her. But eventually, she'd believe it. She'd seen herself, years younger, staring back at her with big, clueless and innocent eyes.

It feels like a lifetime has passed since last night and since her conversation with Debbie.

It feels like whatever happens next, she'll be fine.

"You don't start today, what are you doing here?" Doreen questions Bea when she closes the salon for the day and sees the redhead and Allie waiting outside. She doesn't comment on the fact that they are both standing insanely close to one another.

"Would you mind if I used the salon tonight? I need to practice, it's been a while, and this one here," Bea points at Allie, "doesn't mind if I ruin her hairstyle."

"She owes me," Allie rolls her eyes.

Doreen notices the smitten look in her blue eyes and she realizes that she hasn't simply welcomed two strangers in this place.

Doreen wonders if the two women are aware of their proximity, or the way they sneak glances at each other every second. She wonders if Bea can see the way Allie looks at her like she's the most precious person on this planet. She wonders if Allie can see the way Bea drinks every word she says and marvels at the slightest physical contact between them.

Doreen thinks they're oblivious to their own chemistry and she muffles a laugh, thinking she's never met blinder people in her life.

"No worries, Bea, make yourself at home. Just make sure you put everything back where it belongs," she says kindly as she leaves them. "I'll be double checking tomorrow, so don't throw a party in here."

 _And don't have sex in the middle of the place,_ she thinks to herself as she glances back, only to see Bea reaching for the door excitedly.

Bea opens the doors and turns on the light before she dramatically gestures for Allie to join her.

"Step into my salon," she grins proudly like she owns the damn place.

She has a freaking job, she is spending some time with the breathtaking Allie Novak, and if she finds an apartment tomorrow, then her life will truly be perfect.

She won't let anything ruin this, and she decides not to tell Allie about her conversation with Will. Allie's done enough. She can figure it out herself this time. She has to.

"Thanks," Allie chuckles.

Allie walks inside, pretending to be in awe whenever her eyes land on a new object around her. A new hairdryer? A new hairbrush? A shining mirror? A small, ordinary pencil on the front desk? She's pointing at all object and acting like she doesn't have a clue about anything and everything, and she beams when Bea plays along and mockingly explains to her the secrets of the salon.

It's fun, and it's easy, and it's everything that last night wasn't. They're rediscovering this place with new eyes, and it feels good.

It's beautiful, the way Bea's smile lights up the world, and the way she squeals at the various tools at her disposal. She sounds like a child in a candy store, and Allie loves that this place no longer seems associated with razor blades and oppressive vile thoughts.

She doesn't ask Bea to explain why the world suddenly is brighter and better. She doesn't ask about last night and their well guarded secrets. She doesn't ask why, suddenly, the problems are gone and the only thing that matters is that Allie gets a haircut right here and right now. She figures Bea will tell her if she wants to.

In the meantime, she smiles and she celebrates Bea's victory.

"I'll have a cut and color, thanks!" she chirps happily as she leans forward Bea, stealing another piece of Bea's heart at the same time.

Bea nods eagerly.

"Come here, I'll wash your hair," she motions for Allie to join her as she checks the water temperature.

"You better not really ruin my hairstyle," Allie smirks slyly. "You'll be the one stuck with an ugly person by your side all the time."

Bea laughs loudly and Allie wonders how she's survived for so long without hearing this sound.

"You'll always be beautiful," Bea winks boldly.

She's rediscovering a side of herself that she hasn't explored in years. She knows why she's wanted to be a hairdresser ever since she knew how to hold scissors. Being a hairdresser isn't simply about giving someone a haircut. It isn't simply about giving someone a new color, or a quick trim when it is needed. It isn't about awkward conversations during which no one knows what to say.

Giving someone a new haircut means giving them confidence. It gives them beauty, and joy, and sometimes, freedom from the chains of the past. It transforms them in a new person. It sheds the old skin into a new one. It isn't just about physical beauty anymore, it's about who they are.

She never should have given up her job, she thinks, but now she has a chance to fix it.

"Let me know if the temperature's good," she tells Allie as she begins to rinse her blonde mane.

Allie lies on the chair and closes her eyes as the hot stream of water hits the back of her head. She can't remember the last time she had a real, professional haircut. It was before Kaz went to prison. It was before she relapsed. It was years ago and she's intensely grateful that Bea is reminding her how good it feels.

She feels Bea's fingers massaging her scalp and the smells of shampoo overcomes her as she sinks into the comfortable chair. She inhales slowly as goosebumps travel around her body when the water cuts and Bea's hands are slowly untangling her hair. She exhales sharply when she feels the water hit her again, and she thinks she might pass out when Bea adds conditioner and starts moving her hands in the back of her neck, all the way up to her forehead.

Allie tries so hard to ignore thoughts of where those hands could touch her instead that she forgets to close her mouth for a moment and a deep moan escapes.

The hands stop moving for a second and Allie thinks she can hear Bea swallows nervously above her.

She parts her lips, ready to apologize, but Bea's moving again, and it feels like she's floating on a cloud again. She doesn't dare break this magical atmosphere they are trapped in. Her mind is going all kinds of places, not all as innocent as this one.

"All done." Bea's voice is small and breathy. "You can go sit, I'll join you in a second."

"Sure."

The next hour flies by.

It's an hour spent with Bea's fingers pulling delicately at Allie's hair, while Allie has to bite her lips to prevent herself from making any undesirable sound that might scar Bea for life.

It's sixty minutes during which Allie tries to answer Bea's questions while trying to ignore the growing ache between her legs.

It's three thousand six hundred seconds of pure torture as Bea makes all the right decisions to create a masterpiece out of Allie, while Allie thinks she needs a cold shower as soon as possible.

It's a full hour spent with Allie rapping some ridiculous lines just to make Bea laugh, and Bea pretending to be a hardcore fan of DJ Allie Cat, just to make Allie laugh too.

It's a time of pure joy, and it feels so impossibly too good to be true, but _it is_.

When Bea's drying Allie's hair and the sound is deafening for the both of us, Allie licks her lips and thanks the skies that she's managed to survive for so long. A little more and she thinks she might have betrayed herself.

"What do you think?" Bea asks with the biggest smile on her face as Allie stands to look at herself closely in the mirror.

Bea is glowing at what she's done and if anything, she thinks Allie is even more beautiful than before. It isn't fair, really, the way Allie just gets more beautiful every time she sets her eyes on her.

"It's perfect," Allie replies, mouth wide open as she tries to find a way to explain how she feels.

"Don't push it, Allie," Bea rolls her eyes as she cleans up the mess on the floor. "You can just say 'thank you' and I'll take it."

Sure.

She'll act normal, like Allie's compliment didn't just make her happier than she was a second ago.

Every day she spends with Allie seems to make her happier.

"This is more than I could have asked for, thank you."

The sincerity in Allie's tone makes Bea blush.

"No worries."

She finishes cleaning the floor while Allie watches her attentively.

"Are we okay?" Allie asks with a small voice.

Nothing is simple anymore. They've shared their deepest secrets, and hurt each other more than ever, and supported each other when they both wanted to run away.

They've put aside apologies and heartfelt explanations because they could read each other's mind, but is it really enough for them to move on?

"We are," Bea says softly.

Allie thinks that Bea has never looked better, and she makes a mental note to thank Kaz the next time she sees her. If she'd known how much this would impact Bea, Allie would have swallowed her pride and gone to see Kaz after their very first visit. Then again, she hadn't expected them to become what they are today.

Whatever this is. Whatever they are. Whatever they'll become.

She stands up impulsively before she has time to weight her decision, and she reaches Bea's side within seconds. She takes the broom out of Bea's hand and places it against the wall. It is quickly forgotten when Bea anxiously meets her eyes.

Allie is dangerously close to the other woman, and she thinks that this might be a mistake, but Bea doesn't step back.

Allie stares at Bea like she did the very first day, without judgment, without fear, and with a spark of interest that only grows brighter with time. She looks at her lovingly, and she doesn't care anymore if the world knows about it, even if Bea's eyes are still clouded with insecurities and apprehension.

"We should go," Bea whispers, stepping toward the door.

Allie knows Bea's words lack conviction.

They aren't solid enough to build this wall between them again.

They aren't strong enough to prevent them to see the truth in each other's eyes.

Bea is telling her that she isn't ready, but Allie sees the opposite in her eyes for the first time since they've met.

She reaches for Bea's hand and captures it in her own gently.

"You're shaking," Allie states as she takes a step closer.

Bea is a prisoner, helpless as Allie's blue eyes keep her paralyzed on the spot. She can't escape, and this time, she isn't sure she wants to. She doesn't see the point in running away when she knows she'll come crawling back a second later. Running away doesn't lead anywhere when it comes to Allie. If anything, it only drives her closer to Allie.

"It's cold," she whispers, her pathetic excuse at a distraction echoing on the walls.

She's so tensed that she wonders how she can still stand and not snap under Allie's maddeningly intense stare. She forgets to breathe, and when she finally remembers, her lungs are begging for oxygen and her body is weak under the accumulation of poisonous molecules.

She feels her heartbeat quickens and skips too many beats to count, until she thinks it actually stops and just stays immobile in her chest. For an infinite second, she stands there, facing Allie while she's half alive, ready to fall on the ground and collapse under the weight of her own emotions.

Allie catches her. She always does.

"It's not cold."

It really isn't, Bea thinks. She's sweating, and her clothes are far too warm for this kind of weather, and she feels like she might pass out from the heat and the heaviness of Allie's gaze.

The closer Allie gets, the hotter it gets, and before Bea can think about it, Allie's lips are brushing against hers, and she finds herself wanting more.

Allie opens her eyes, just long enough to make sure that Bea wants this, that this isn't another cruel joke the universe is playing on them. When she finds a miracle in Bea's blazing gaze, she brings their lips together again, throwing all her inhibitions away.

Bea closes her eyes, only to see fireworks on her eyelids when Allie's lips press harder, needy and desperate, and still so soft against hers. It's gentle and hungry, delicate and chaotic at the same time, and it tears down every defense Bea has ever built between the two of them.

Bea doesn't know anything. She doesn't know what to do, how to breathe or how to move, but she knows that the way Allie feels against her is enough to destroy her in the most delicious way.

She thinks she's waited her entire life for this moment to happen.

In-between inaudible moans and imaginary explosions created by the subtle way Allie deepens the kiss, Bea finds herself remembering why she's fought so hard to stay alive.


	11. Your lips could save my life

**This one took longer than I expected, but here it is!**

 **As always, thank you for reading.**

 **Title comes from "Stay with me" by Anson Seabra.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11 : Kiss me like your lips could save my life**

Debbie doesn't come back to sleep.

The hole in Bea's chest grows a little, and then, a lot.

She tries calling Debbie. Once, twice, and then, too many times to count, but she gets no answer.

She doesn't tell anyone. After all, she's getting kicked out sooner than later, so it doesn't matter anymore. She thinks about calling Harry, to threaten him, to beg him to bring Debbie back, but she doesn't. She doesn't want to hear his voice, and she decides that maybe, she can trust Debbie to be safe just this one night.

She forgets that the clock is ticking and that she'll run out of time soon.

She leaves the shelter at five in the morning, like she used to do weeks ago. She's reminded of the chill of the air and the familiar silence that haunts the streets when everyone is sleeping. She reconnects with the shadows and the eerie atmosphere, and the subtle excitement to be outside when no one else is. She walks down memory lane as her feet absently lead her to the familiar bench that changed her life.

She would steal the damn thing if she could, keep it with her as an object of an inestimable value.

She sees Allie, waiting for her with her blue eyes telling Bea that her sadness could be heard from miles away. She smiles like she should have known that Allie would show up, like she should have known to trust Allie with her life.

She stands silently in front of Allie, unsure whether to sit or to keep walking, to break the comfortable silence or to keep her mouth shut forevermore.

Yesterday flashes in her mind like scenes from a movie she can't forget.

The smiles. The haircut. The least convincing lie in the word. The most convincing kiss in the world. The tension. The avoidance of all eyes contacts. The sound the door made when she locked it. Their steps echoing on the sidewalk. The silence that followed them until they were walking down different streets. The emptiness she'd felt once Allie was out of sight.

The endless pause.

It feels like every moment she spends without Allie doesn't really exist as part of her life.

She feels like the kiss just happened, and at the same time, she feels like it's been a year since she's had Allie's lips pressing on hers. She feels the panic rising within her chest as her heart bends under the fear that all that has happened has been nothing but a mirage.

Or worse, a mistake.

She thinks of a dozen excuses she can say to brush the moment off, to pretend like it's no big deal if Allie wants to move on and forget about it. She thinks of the words she'll say, the way she'll pronounce them, the movement of her hands as she'll speak.

She thinks that she can be strong enough to pretend like it's fine, like this one kiss wasn't the highlight of her year. It wasn't. It was the highlight of her entire life, as stupidly cliché as it sounds.

She can tell Allie that they won't have to see each other again. She can disappear. She can leave Wentworth, leave this city altogether, and pretend like it doesn't hurt to say goodbye to the most stunning woman she's ever met. She can follow Debbie, if Debbie still wants her. She can change her name and identity and go seek the world she has lost in another country, if that's what Allie wants from her.

"Stop it," Allie chuckles, standing up next to Bea.

She stands a little closer than usual, and for the first time, Bea thinks that it isn't close enough. She doesn't move though, because then, she might get stuck in Allie's gravity for the rest of her life.

"Stop what?" she asks defensively, feeling insecure with the way Allie's blue eyes capture hers.

"Thinking. It's too loud," Allie says softly, reading Bea like an open book. "You're disturbing my own thoughts and all," she adds with a mocking tone.

"You can't tell me not to think," Bea replies in a breathy voice.

Why does it always feel like she's just ran a marathon whenever Allie looks at her like that?

Why does it always feel like the air become harder to breathe when she's so close to Allie?

Why does she always feel weak and small, and so, _so_ vulnerable when Allie is right in front of her?

"You can think! Just not so loud, you'll only get a headache. Or is it your intention? You know what they say is the best remedy for a headache?" Allie winks.

Bea looks around her, thinking that maybe she's the victim of a bad reality show.

"I don't," she hesitantly declares. She really doesn't understand what she's supposed to reply to that, and it only makes her more nervous. She's missing something.

"You don't?" Allie gasps in amusement. She licks her lips and sends Bea a predatory look. "Bea Smith, do you want to find out?"

Bea makes a face and Allie's smile widens like she's just told the best joke in the world. The awkwardness snaps away and Bea wonders why she ever thought things would change between them. Allie has a gifted talent to make things right. Allie knows just the right, insane words to say to let Bea know that it will be alright, even when she feels it won't.

The blonde moves closer, and Bea bites her lower lip in anticipation when she feels Allie's hand toying with a strand of her hair.

It only dawns on Bea that now, she might want to take those threats seriously. That those innocent questions might not be so innocent anymore. That maybe, Allie means it now.

"Say it," Allie commands, gently, but seriously.

Bea frowns in confusion, her head still spinning from the avalanche of thoughts piling up in her brain. There are so many things she wants to say. There are so many things she's wanted to scream ever since they left each other the previous day, and it makes Allie's statement ridiculous. Say what? Everything? Then they'll be stuck here in twenty years still.

"Say what?" she asks with a hoarse voice.

Allie takes a step closer and Bea is surprised that there is still space between them. Not much, or maybe not at all, she realizes, judging by the way Allie's lips brush against hers when she speaks.

"You know what."

Allie's breath mixes with Bea's, and Bea remembers what she wants to ask. She wishes she could forget because she's not ready to hear the answer.

"Do you regre – "

Her sentence is quickly interrupted by Allie's hand pressing lightly against her back, making her stumble forward just enough for Allie's lips to capture hers. She shuts her eyes when she feels Allie placing small, soft pecks on her mouth at first. It's sweet and innocent, and it makes Bea's heart pound in her chest, until Allie deepens the kiss with an urge that wasn't there yesterday, and Bea's heart is flirting with madness.

She thinks that she moans in Allie's mouth when Allie's hand presses behind her neck to keep her as close as possible. She feels the way Allie hums lowly in her mouth. The soundwaves travel inside her body, flipping her stomach upside-down, weakening her knees, and shocking that place between her legs.

She trembles in Allie's arms when Allie bites her lower lip gently and pulls at it between her teeth.

She jumps back when her lungs burn from the lack of air.

"Does that answer your question?" Allie pants, already missing the contact.

Bea can't make a sound.

She feels like she's been hit by lightning a dozen times in the last second. She had no idea a kiss could spin her world so hard that she'd have a hard time standing afterwards. She had no idea someone could steal her breath the way Allie just did.

She's starting to realize that she might never be able to live without Allie.

Maybe it's the adrenaline or the rush of the moment, or the way Allie stares at her with the entire universe in her eyes, but Bea leans closer again until she fully presses her lips to Allie's. She starts slow because she's afraid might lose control if she doesn't, but the way Allie's body presses against hers clouds her mind. She pants in Allie's mouth and impulsively parts her lips to grant entrance to the blonde.

Allie is hot, and wet against her, and it makes Bea wants to collapse to the ground, but Allie's arms hold her steadily. When Allie's tongue slowly pushes its way between Bea's lips, Bea thinks she might implode from the way it makes her feel.

She's wrong.

The moment she implodes is when Allie's hand slowly moves up to her side, until she's touching the side of her breast.

She lets Allie steals her sanity for a second before she claims it back, afraid she's going to lose it forever.

She pulls her swollen lips away even though it physically pains her, and she leaves her eyes closed for a moment, breathing in Allie's proximity. She swallows slowly, thinking that any abrupt movement will ruin the moment.

"Sorry, it's okay. It's too soon, I get it," Allie murmurs, eyes growing darker and pupils full blown despite the newfound space between them.

Bea catches her breath and nods absently.

Is it really too soon, or is she just not ready to find out just how far they'll go if she doesn't stop them?

She doesn't want to stop, but she doesn't want to keep going either. How does she put this feeling into words? How does she tell Allie without pushing her away? How does she turn the mixture of letters floating in her head into clear sentences?

What the fuck are they now? Should they speak about their feelings and expectations, and status, and all those other things that Bea isn't ready to talk about?

They're grown women, should they even have this conversation, about girlfriends, and dating, and all the issues that come with it?

"Here, sit," Allie gestures. She interlaces her fingers with Bea's and gently pulls her down. "You're thinking too loud again. We don't have to talk."

The bench is cold against her back, and Bea finally stops panicking when she focuses her attention on the goosebumps appearing on her arms and the feel of Allie's hand in hers.

They don't say anything, but Bea can feel Allie's heavy gaze on her. She keeps her eyes on the ground, afraid of what the blonde might read in hers if she looks up. She isn't ready to reveal everything she's thinking about yet. She feels like it might ruin everything.

The kiss is still causing her heart to beat at a higher speed than average, and she thinks that no amount of time will ever be enough to tame her wild organ. She wonders if Allie can hear the drums too.

Five minutes pass, and she has no idea what to say now, what to do, so she blurts out the first sentence that comes to her mind.

"Debbie didn't come back tonight."

Bea closes her eyes for a second, cursing herself for choosing such a heavy topic.

"Where do you think she is?" Allie asks with a calm voice that eases Bea's nervousness.

"At Harry's," Bea growls. "She's at his place, I know it. And there's nothing I can do."

Allie squeezes Bea's hand. It grounds them together in this reality and prevents Bea from imagining the worst.

"Can't you call the police?"

"Without solid accusations? No. I'd only scare her more and who knows how Harry might react."

Allie feels her blood boiling. It sucks that she can't do more.

"How is she?"

"She's angry," Bea sighs. "She's probably counting down the minutes until she can leave this country. I don't want her to go back, but I won't be able to stop her. She's an adult, she can make her own decisions now."

A part of her wishes Debbie was still five years old, easy to carry away from any dangerous situation. She could simply take Debbie in her arms, kiss her forehead, and slowly walk away.

"Why is she angry?" Allie gently pushes Bea to explore the situation.

"I told her I didn't want her to be around this Brayden anymore. He's bad for her and he's obviously giving her the drugs!"

Allie nods, understanding and empathizing.

"You know, if someone had told me something like that, and I had been in Debbie's situation, I would have punched them in the face," Allie says. When Bea throws an insulted look at her, she specifies. "I just mean, it's not just you. It's not personal. She probably thinks that Brayden is the one great love of her life, and she doesn't realize that what he's doing isn't good for her."

Bea nods, agreeing with Allie.

And to think she'd wanted Debbie to know love. She regrets ever feeling like this now. She wants to take it all back: the words she said, the way she kicked Debbie out of the country, the wishes she'd made upon hearing about her boyfriend, everything.

"And how are you?" Allie nudges Bea's side.

She doesn't need to have a child of her own to imagine how Bea must be feeling.

Bea doesn't know the answer to this question. There are many answers she could give, but none could ever represent the growing hole she has in her chest.

"I just want her to come back," she admits. "I wish I knew how to talk to her so she'd understand that I just want what's best for her. Everything I tell her seems to be wrong. Everything I've done in the past suddenly doesn't matter. It's like I was never there for her. Now, she's all about this Brayden."

Bea wonders how this man looks like, the one who's slowly stealing her daughter's life. Is he good looking? Is he smart? Is he rich? Is he a master manipulator or just a young kid who doesn't know best? How did he get Debbie's attention? How did he keep it? Is he texting her now? Is he keeping her awake? Is he telling her the sweetest lies or the brutal truth? Is he in love or is he just pretending? Is he innocent or guilty?

"She'll come around," Allie tries to reassure her. "Is she safe? Should we do something?"

Bea shakes her head. She grips Allie's hand like it's her lifeline.

"I have to trust her," she swallows difficultly. "I don't trust her with Brayden, but I do with Harry. It's stupid, isn't it? I know what Harry is capable of. Debbie knows it too. She might not do anything when it comes to her boyfriend, but I trust her to react if something happens with Harry."

She seems to hesitate, and Allie is about to insist when she finally captures Bea's eyes with her own. The air in her lungs freezes and suddenly, her lungs are being ripped out of her chest.

Bea's eyes are glittering with unshed tears and Allie fights to not get up and run to Harry's place to murder the man. She would give up her freedom if it meant she could protect Bea, keep her safe from the burning tears and the deep despair that keeps chasing her. She thinks it's unfair that life keeps trying to bring down such a beautiful soul.

She sees the way Bea tries so hard to stay calm, to act like nothing is wrong with her world when it keeps crumbling down a little more every day.

She sees the mother who wants nothing more than for her child to be safe. She sees the woman who wants nothing more than to earn her freedom. She sees the little girl who's afraid of being left behind if she makes a mistake.

She sees the vulnerable warrior and she loves her.

"Stay with me, don't leave," she whispers when she notices Bea's eyes shifting away.

Bea wants nothing more than to hide her pain away. She doesn't want to add more on Allie's shoulders, especially when she knows that the blonde also has issues of her own. She thinks that Allie has so much to do too and that she can't afford to be selfish now.

She wants to hide her problems in the black of the night, far from those enchanting blue eyes that always read her mind whenever they settle on her.

She wants to hide her worries far from those warm hands that always find hers even when the moon is gone and the clouds block the light of the stars.

She wants to hide her tears from that smile, that stunning, infinite smile that steals a piece of her heart every time she stares at it a little too long.

"You still don't get it, right?" Allie asks with a hushed voice. "You don't have to pretend with me. I'm not afraid of you, Bea Smith. I've never been, and I never will be."

"You can't predict the future," Bea replies with a nonchalant voice.

"You may be right, but right now, I'm where I want to be."

Bea loves the way her heart flutters at Allie's words.

She presses her lips to Allie's cheek. It feels more intimate than the previous heated kisses.

"Me too."

* * *

Bea stops by the shelter before she heads to Franky's.

She walks into her room, hoping to find Debbie sleeping in her bed, hoping that Allie's breathtaking words somehow lured her daughter back too.

The bed is empty.

The room is cold.

The air is suffocating.

The room that saved her life a little over a month ago is now synonym of torture.

Bea locks herself in the bathroom to wash the tears away before she goes back outside.

Her mask falls back into place, fitting perfectly with the shape of her face.

It might fool the eight billion people on Earth, but Allie sees right through it.

* * *

"I didn't invite her," Franky amusedly quirks an eyebrow when she answers the knock at her door and finds Allie amongst the group. She doesn't miss the way Allie's fingers are tightly laced with Bea's and she smirks knowingly. "Something you wanna tell me?"

Maxine and Boomer quickly walks past the brunette, their quick steps leading them to the table where a variety of snacks awaits them. They dig into them, shouting vague thanks to their host as they fall into the couch and comfortably wait for their friends to join them. Franky's invitation to her place had forced them to come out of their respective rooms and finally talk to each other. It had taken one second for them to forgive each other and to move on.

"I don't care," Bea shrugs. "You invited me, didn't you?"

It seems to be enough of an argument and she pushes Franky out of the way, pulling Allie inside with her. She laughs internally, thinking that a few weeks back, she never would have had the courage to say something like that. She never would have dared to answer this way because the fear of reprisal still kept her prisoner of its grim hold.

Not anymore.

This small progress makes her entire life better.

She eyes the familiar walls between which she poured her heart out a few days ago, vaguely aware of the loud laugh coming out of Franky's throat. She pops a piece of cheese in her mouth and feeds one to Allie. Her fingers brush Allie's pink lips and a smile blooms on her face.

"Welcome," Franky snickers at Allie. "There's something different about you."

She studies Allie's eyes, face, arms, and every part of her body. She hums to herself, as if she were a detective about to solve an unsolvable case. She ignores the way Bea rolls her eyes at her and tries to push her away. She bites her lower lip playfully and waits until Bea has a sip of water in her mouth to ask Allie her next question.

"Did you get into Bea's pants?"

"Hey!" Bea protests, her cheeks turning crimson as she chokes on her drink.

She takes a step toward Maxine and Boomer, trying to escape the situation.

Franky points from Bea to Allie, her eyes twinkling with malice.

"Did _you_ get into Allie's pants?" she gasps. She extends a hand in Boomer's direction. "Booms, pay up!"

Allie giggles and Bea nearly runs to take the last available place on the couch. She glares at Boomer who simply mumbles an excuse and throws a bill at Franky.

"I didn't," Bea protests. "I didn't come here for you to make fun of me!"

"We made a bet on who would give in first," Boomer shrugs. "I didn't think it'd be you, you walk away whenever I mention sex."

"I don't," Bea replies defensively, a bit too fast for anyone to believe her.

"Oh no?" Boomer frowns. "Fine, so about that time I tried to get myself off and – "

"The point is, no one did anything," Bea interrupts, covering her eyes with her hands before she jumps out of the couch and snatches the money away. "It's mine. It's payment for being rude and making assumptions. Consider yourself lucky I'm not asking for more."

"I tried to stop them," Maxine chimes. "They're lost causes, sorry love."

Franky smiles silently and doesn't try to take the money back. Boomer just ignores them.

Franky waits until everyone has food in their plate and a smile on their face. She prepared everything. She cooked and baked, and what had started as a few fancy sandwiches had become a ginormous buffet full of tantalizing options. She'd wanted everything to be perfect. It was the first time she welcomed everyone at the same time, and she wanted it to be casual, but memorable.

She's nervously waiting for the verdict. She's heard many people talk about her cooking skills in the past. Some were positive, but there had been this persistent guy who kept bringing her down with his ruthless words. She would hate to deceive her family. What if they never want to come back again? What if that little thing is enough for them to turn on her?

Her nervousness flies out the window when Maxine, whose appetite has been a roller coaster in the last few days, assures her that everything is excellent. She smiles like she's known all this time that her food was impeccable, but on the inside, she is flooded by relief. She inhales deeply and plasters a genuine grin on her face.

Maybe someday, she'll be brave enough to cook for Bridget too.

"Alright, since we're all here and it's been forever, let's discuss the important things," Franky declares. "First things first, Bea, you should check out this place down the street. It's a building like mine and they have a place available. You still looking for a place?"

"I am." She wishes she could give another answer.

"I know the owner, Erica. We had a few conversations and I think she's legit. She might be able to make a deal with you if you're in trouble. I'll give you the address after."

Bea agrees, thinking that anything will do now. She has two days to find a home and she's tired of visiting places all over the city. She wants it to end, once and for all, because it feels like she will never move on from the wreck of her life otherwise.

"Come with me?" she whispers to Allie.

"Always," the blonde answers smoothly.

Bea melts and Franky rolls her eyes at the poor smitten woman. At least, she thinks, they seem to have stepped out of their mutual blind spot.

"Second, Maxine, how are you feeling? Do you need anything? Do you feel sick?"

Ever since she's learned about Maxine's upcoming operation, she's lived with a weight in her stomach. There's so much she wants to do, but nothing she can accomplish. It's not like she can stab cancer in the guts or shoot a bullet through every nasty cell.

"I always feel sick," Maxine chuckles but stops when Franky's serious stare locks on hers. "I don't need anything for now, thanks," Maxine answers gently. "Let's not focus on me. Today is about you. You said you had something to tell us?"

Franky's grin transforms into a shy, humble smile. She pours herself a glass of water to heal her dry throat.

"I do, but you can't tell anyone," she specifies, looking straight into her friends' eyes.

There's a moment of silence, and for a second, everyone fears that Franky has a terrible news to announce.

"Gidget and I, we're dating. Officially," Franky declares.

The room explodes in cheers, but the loudest comes from Boomer, who's clapping and yelling like a proud mother looking down at her child. She roughly plays with Franky's hair and the brunette yelps away, lightning shooting from her eyes. The smile on her face betrays her joy.

She's finally gotten everything she's wanted.

A home. A job. A family. A hot girlfriend.

All that's missing is a hot car, so they can drive off into the sunset.

Allie observes the scene with attention. She feels like she's intruding on something private, like she has no right to be there. This is Franky's sanctuary, her journey, surrounded by her family, and Allie is still a stranger to her. She stares at Bea, whose smile is growing bigger, and she lets a smile of her own linger on her lips.

Bea looks happy, and Allie's heart is soaring.

"Isn't it a conflict of interest?" Maxine frowns, gently teasing Franky.

"Nah, it isn't. There was nothing when I was living there, so it's fine," Franky grins. "Do not even try to ruin this for me."

"I'm happy for you," Maxine replies simply. "Maybe that can explain why Bridget was so distracted recently. She gave me the wrong meds yesterday, but I caught her on time."

Maxine pauses and points a threatening finger in Franky's direction.

"Your love affair almost got me killed," she accuses playfully.

Franky pretends to beg for forgiveness, and Maxine tries to hide her laugh.

"Bow before me," she orders with an innocent voice. "If you're really serious about that apology."

"Only because it's you. Anyone else asks me this and they'll be the one kissing the floor, get it?" Franky answers, shooting a deathly look at everyone else in the room as she bows down. "Forgive me, Maxie?"

Maxine pretends to think about it and even waits an endless minute as Franky remains immobile and her back starts to ache.

"No," Maxine shrugs, cutting the tension with a single word.

Franky scoffs loudly.

"You're a dictator," she complains.

"I learned from the best. You could be such a pain in the ass back at the shelter," Maxine retorts.

Franky laughs and grabs the nearest cushion to throw it at Maxine's face. Maxine throws her hand in front of her defensively, and the cushion bounces back to attack Allie, whose surprised squeal catches Bea's ears.

Bea narrows her eyes dangerously as she looks at the scene, deciding her next move.

"Bea, I'm innocent and you know it," Franky declares quickly, seeing the devilish look in Bea's eyes.

Bea takes the cushion out of Allie's hands, kisses Allie's forehead softly as Boomer lets out an _aw_ , and suddenly turns around, throwing the object in Franky's general direction. It lands heavily on Franky's chest and knocks the air out of her lungs.

"Someone's got a protective girlfriend," Franky grins, placing the cushion on the floor.

"Someone needs to shut up," Bea lightly replies, unbothered by the comment.

 _Girlfriend_. It sounds perfect.

Franky would be vaguely insulted if it weren't for the gleeful look in Bea's eyes.

"Someone didn't deny that she has a girlfriend!" she nearly yells, realizing Bea's mistake. She skips from one opposite of the room to the other and places her arm around the redhead's shoulder. "My favorite student is a fast learner."

Bea shakes Franky's arm away and instinctively scoots closer to Allie in her quest for protection, unaware that her actions are only contributing to making Franky's laugh louder.

"You're hopeless, Red," Franky says.

"I caught Bridget here a few days back," Bea refocuses on the subject. "Congratulations."

"You ruined the moment actually," Franky winks. "But thanks! She came back after and we had the chance to talk so we could clear things out."

She'd feared that Bridget would tell her that it was time to end things, but it had been the complete opposite, as if getting caught by Bea had been the missing ingredient for their strange relationship to become official.

Maybe that's why Franky is stubbornly trying to set her up with Allie. It's as if she also had something she owed to the redhead. Meeting Bea had triggered something inside of her. Seeing how Bea had fought to be alive today had made Franky infinitely motivated to keep fighting too.

Now, she doesn't feel scared of anything anymore.

"Is she going to move in with you?" Maxine asks.

"Hell nah. It's too early for that," Franky shakes her head quickly, horrified at the thought.

Almost isn't scared of anything.

There's no way Bridget can move in with her so soon after they made it official. Moving in together means exposing all the little details, all the little flaws to the other person. Franky is nowhere near ready for that.

She avoids the rest the conversation by walking into the kitchen and getting more food ready for everyone. She zones out of the conversation, but glances a few times at her friends talking casually in the living room. She finishes rinsing the ingredients to make a homemade chicken pie and proceeds to cut them.

She smiles absently when Bea comes to ask her if she needs help. She tells Bea to go back to Allie before she dies from being too far away from her not so secret lover. She feels Bea's hand punching her shoulder and she laughs harder.

She stops all motion when Maxine steps next to her and asks for a glass of water. She pours the water slowly, like she's afraid she might fail at this simple task, and Maxine insists that isn't made of glass.

She nearly cuts her finger off when she loses her focus by listening too closely to what other nonsense Boomer is talking about.

Even Allie comes to her, asking her if she needs help. When Franky replies the same thing that she's said to Bea a couple minutes ago, Allie insists, and Franky needs to physically stop her from messing up her kitchen organization. She's only now starting to understand how this sweet looking blonde managed to pierce through the toughest defenses surrounding Bea.

She looks at the two women who somehow never seem to take their eyes off each other.

She looks at Maxine and Boomer yelling profanities about something related to politics.

She feels home and when she finally goes back to the group, it feels like she never left.

She glances at Bea when the other woman gets up, ready to answer her duty as a perfect host, but Bea walks in the direction of the bathroom, and Franky redirects her eyes on her other guests. She thinks that maybe, just maybe, she should fucking chill because no one is leaving and no one appears to be hating her.

Maybe.

Bea excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She takes a few minutes to come back when she notices a few pictures hanging on the walls. The once empty walls are now decorated with small polaroid pictures. Most of them are from Franky's childhood, and Bea's eyes shine at the small child portrayed in various mundane activities. She's immensely grateful that Franky has found this place to call her own.

When she comes back in the living room, she feels like she's stepping into another dimension when she realizes that the topic of the conversation has changed again.

"It's been ages since I got off properly," Maxine confesses. "My Fev posters aren't doing it for me anymore."

Bea's brain takes a second to register what everyone is now talking about and her fight or flight mode activates. Why does the conversation always come back to this damn subject? She manages to walk to Allie's side, but she keeps her eyes to the floor.

"You just need to mix up your technique," Allie explains like it's the obvious answer. Her hand automatically finds Bea's, even if her attention is directed at Boomer. "Don't just shove your hand in there. You want to take your time with it, enjoy your body."

Bea wonders when Allie became such a connoisseur about the matter, and then remembers that if anyone here knows about sex, of course it has to be Allie.

What the hell does "enjoy your body" even mean?

"Do we really have to listen to this?" Bea asks, lips pursed and knuckles turning white from how hard she's clenching her fists.

The fact that it's becoming serious with Allie changes her perception of sex. She isn't stupid. She's noticed the countless times Allie has undressed her with her eyes ever since they met. It made her feel nervous at first. Then, it made her laugh and roll her eyes. And now, it makes her all hot and bothered like she can't handle it anymore because she is painfully aware that this isn't a hypothetical situation anymore.

It can become so much more than an idea now.

A hug doesn't feel the same. It isn't such an innocent touch anymore. It can lead to so much more if they decide to let their hands wander somewhere else. It's never happened so far, but she is convinced that a single well-calculated touch could set her skin on fire or create a pool between her legs.

A wink doesn't weight the same in her stomach either. It isn't an innocent playful movement of an eyelid anymore. It isn't a game anymore. It's too real, too intense, and she can't ignore the way it looks more like a promise than a simple physical action.

"Yeah, we fucking do!" Boomer shouts back like Bea's interrupting the summum of her life.

Bea sighs, wondering why everyone around seems fine with this conversation while she's living the longest minutes of her life. Hearing Allie talking about sex and all its subtleties only reminds her that she isn't nearly as experimented as the blonde. It didn't matter before, but it sure as hell does now.

She avoids what is sure is a very questioning glance from Allie.

"It's all about teasing yourself, right?" Allie's voice is so damn loud in Bea's brain. Even when she tries not to hear it, it's all she can pay attention to.

Bea tries to calm herself, but all she manages to do is to pray that Allie doesn't notice how sweaty her hand is becoming. She discreetly drops Allie's hand and doesn't react when Allie frowns at her.

Teasing herself. She shivers at the thought. She can count on one hand the amount of times she's done that, and those aren't her most valuable memories.

She remembers when Allie had told her about the nuances between sex and _good_ sex, and how she'd naively thought that this would be the only conversation they'd ever have on the subject.

"So just really lightly massage your tits, clamp onto your nipples…"

Bea thinks she might pass out from the heat and the explicit details that Allie seems to have no problem to add. With every new word, new visions appear in Bea's mind. Nasty, dirty visions that she's never experienced before. It drives her insane and she can't help imagining Allie, lying on a bed, clothes scattered around her, eyes shut while her hands are traveling on the bare skin of her chest before dipping lower.

"Stroke the inside of your thigh a little bit."

And lower.

"Work the clit."

And lower.

"Then you can go in for the G spot."

She exhales loudly, hoping that she can evacuate the tension with the simple act of breathing. It fails epically, and she bites the inside of her cheeks when Allie mimes the gestures as she speaks. She tries to look away, but she can't, her eyes are mesmerized by the way Allie's hands move.

She thinks she might be in hell. Or heaven. Or a strange mix of both places where she never feels happier nor sad.

She wonders when her body started reacting so strongly to Allie's words. Has it only started today? Or has it always reacted, and she was just too good at ignoring the signs of arousal after years of terrible, forced sexual relationships?

She wonders if sex with Allie would really be different, or if it's just something the blonde had claimed to reassure her.

She closes her eyes, thinking of all the ways it could shatter her world, for the better or worse. It could the confirmation she's been waiting for her entire life, but she isn't sure what exactly it would confirm.

She wonders what would happen if she touched herself the way Allie just described.

"Are you okay?" Allie murmurs in her ear when everyone's gone to the kitchen.

Bea offers a shy, hesitant smile.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Allie apologies tenderly, delicately playing with Bea's curly hair.

"It's fine," Bea replies with a tone that suggests the opposite. "I just didn't expect your explanations."

Allie smirks.

"Too much for you?"

"Yes," Bea admits. She doesn't know why she feels so awful about the situation. Surely, she can't be the only person on this planet to feel this way. She can't be the only one to feel like the pressure is ginormous and the expectations are unreachable.

"Don't worry," Allie tells her. "We don't have to talk about it."

Bea nods absently. It isn't that she doesn't want to talk about it per say. It's just that there's so many things that remain unsaid between the two of them, so many well guarded secrets that she can't tell Allie unless she wants to risk losing her. There are so many influences on her that she can't even remember them all.

"Are you okay?" Allie asks.

Bea keeps her lips shut, the answer hiding somewhere she can't access.

"Hey lovers, get your asses here!" Franky calls from the other room. "We need help unless you want to be responsible for the biggest culinary disaster in the world."

Bea stands at the sound of Franky's voice, both relieved and annoyed at the interruption.

"Let's go," she reaches for Allie's hand.

The answer remains unknown and both women pretend like its absence doesn't set their hearts ablaze.

* * *

The apartment is larger than she expected it to be and she hears Allie gasps audibly when they enter.

The front door leads to a small hallway bordered by closets. It guides them to a huge room that appears to be an open space composing the living room and the kitchen. They are separated by a long bar counter that Bea looks at with avid interest in her eyes.

To the left, another hallway stretches in the direction of the master bedroom and a spacious bathroom. To the far right of the living room, she notices another door that seems to lead to another small bedroom. Around them, walls made of bricks offer a rusty but cozy ambiance to the apartment. A giant rectangular window allows for plenty of sun to penetrate the apartment during the day. Suspended, modern lights complete the set beautifully.

They visit the different rooms and Bea beams at the bedrooms. The larger one is big enough to give her enough space to move around without any hassle, but still small enough that she doesn't feel intimidate by the emptiness. She'll need to buy a bed, and she momentarily wonders if she should buy one large enough to fit Allie in it too. There is no doubt in her head that if she were to move in, she'd invite Allie too.

She's surprised at how easily she accepts the idea and then she frowns, wondering if this isn't going a little too fast in her mind.

She shrugs the thought away. It isn't a question of how fast they're going. It's a question of whether she'll let Allie stay a shelter by herself while she has her own place.

No fucking way.

The second bedroom is much smaller, but two of the walls are made of solid glass that allows her to appreciate a view of a small backyard. It gives her the illusion that the room is fully open to the outside world.

Bea has no trouble imagining Debbie falling in love with the sight, and her heart clenches at the thought of her daughter.

They walk back to the living room and Bea shoots many questions at the owner, before there is only one left to ask.

"Is it taken yet?" she asks Erica with fear in her voice.

"I've had two offers," Erica replies, noting the way Bea's expression falls. "But I spoke with Franky. She strongly recommended that I met with you first."

"Do I have any chance at all?"

"She told me about your situation," Erica explains. "I hope she didn't betray your trust or anything, but she assured me that you would understand. I work at a detention center for women. I know everything there is to know about security protocols and the vulnerabilities of women in situation like yours."

It sounds like the best news Bea's heard in a while.

"I do have one last visit scheduled for tonight, and I don't want to cancel it. I can't promise you that I will give you a positive answer, but I do consider you a serious candidate."

Bea nods and tries not to let her optimism be too affected by Erica's statement.

"And the rent? I- I just got a job. I might not be able to pay the first month right away. Would that be a problem?"

"I'm sure we could find a way to make a deal," Erica reassures her.

Bea nods and lets her eyes wander on the space around her one last time.

"I want it," she declares, barely able to hold back her excitement.

It's perfect for her, for Debbie, and maybe, for Allie too.

"Give me a phone number where I can reach you. I'll try to make it quick, but as I said, I have another visitor tonight and I might need some time to think things over."

"That's alright," Bea politely says.

She knows she's running out of time, but she assumes that it's better to appear in control of her emotions than the opposite. She quickly gives Erica the first phone number that comes to her mind. She tries not to think that this is really her last chance before she needs to seriously consider moving to another shelter. She tries not to think of what would happen if she ended up to another shelter.

Beside her, Allie reminds her that she can't ever give up.

* * *

The late afternoon welcomes them with a sunny sky and a few clouds floating in the blue firmament. A fresh breeze blows in their direction, making them feel like they could easily slide with the currents if they were light enough. The temperature is warm, but nowhere near as hot as it was in the last few days, and Bea finds herself being able to walk without being dehydrated after three steps.

Her mind always returns to the apartment and to the urgency of her situation, no matter how many questions Allie asks to try to distract her. She can't stop mentally listing the different places she'll have to call if she doesn't get the place. Most shelters aren't anywhere close to Wentworth. She understands why, they can't all be located in the same area, but it still makes her life way more complicated than it has to be.

Her ideas drift to Debbie. She's constantly checking her phone to make sure there's no missed calls, no emergency texts, no hurried voice messages from her daughter that tells her there's a problem. She's constantly wondering where Debbie is, what she is doing, and mostly, what lies Harry might be feeding her. She hates that she can't find the strength to go back there and face Harry again. She hates that she can't tell anyone at Wentworth, because even if she's sure she'd receive help, she doesn't want to cause any more trouble to anyone.

"We're here!" Allie declares with a voice loud enough to pull Bea out of her inner torture.

Bea looks around her. She finds the oldest trees. The greenest lands. The tallest sculptures. The brightest sun peaking through the clouds. It seems like a small hidden paradise until she glances in the horizon and notices the shape of the many graves decorating the other half of the land.

"You brought me to a cemetery," she states with a tense voice. "That's why you insisted on spending time with me today?"

Allie sends her a smile that is far too bright to belong here.

"There's no place on Earth where life is more celebrated that at cemeteries," she cheers. "People think this place is full of sadness, but they're wrong. This place is unique. It's where everyone come to pay their respects. It's where everyone shares the same pain and, believe it or not, I'm convinced that you won't find an ounce of judgement her."

Bea nods like she understands, but she can still feel the ghosts starting to surround her.

"No matter where you come from, you won't disturb anyone praying at a grave or you won't give a second glance at someone talking out loud," Allie continues. "You'll walk by and just hope that whoever they are, they heal from their loss. You might not even notice them because they wouldn't be doing anything out of the ordinary for this place."

"It makes sense," Bea frowns. She doesn't know why she's so stunned by Allie's words. If anyone could find something positive about cemeteries, of course it'd be Allie. "Is there a reason why we're here?"

"Not really," Allie chirps. She points around them, to the vast field. There are no graves around them. It seems to be an untouched area that has yet to bear the tears of countless strangers. "But here, no one will come to disturb us, and we can just be together for a moment."

Bea looks unsure and she is about to protest when Allie tugs at her hand and brings her down to lie on the grass. She feels out of place, and strangely panicked. She can't remember the last time she did that. She wants to get up, but Allie motions for her to direct her eyes to the sky.

"Look up," Allie says gently. She keeps Bea's hand in hers and can feel Bea's pulse spike dangerously.

Bea obeys, and she focuses her sight on the sky. It feels infinite, and beautiful, and so much bluer than she remembers it to be. Maybe it's because she's spent so much time lost in Allie's eyes recently that she's forgotten about the different shades of blue floating above her. Her surroundings disappear the longer she stares at the sky. At some point, she thinks she's flying.

She has no idea how long Allie lets her stay like this, silent and lost in the way the clouds travel in the air. The Earth doesn't rotate anymore. The sounds of the city are muffled and replaced by the songs of the wind. The weight in her chest and the ache in her soul slowly leave to be replaced by a lightness she has come to associate with Allie's presence.

"So," Allie breaks the silence after a while. The blonde's eyes are glued to the sky and she doesn't look at Bea when she speaks. "doesn't it feel good?"

"What?"

"Doing nothing."

Bea snorts.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does."

Allie smiles like she's been expecting this answer. She waits a few more minutes and quietly hums. Her fingers are tracing lines on the back of Bea's hand and despite how long it has been since their first meeting, she still has trouble believing that this gorgeous woman isn't running away from her.

"How are you?"

"Better," Bea replies gently. "Thank you."

Allie's smile widens.

"Look at the shape of this cloud," she murmurs just loud enough for Bea alone to hear.

"Where?"

"That one right there. Can't you see, that looks like a prawn," she points to the sky and explains, proud of her discovery.

She's always loved watching the clouds as a child. She would lie in the middle of her backyard and find a name for even the smallest white dot in the sky. She would memorize them all and if she saw similar shapes in the future, she'd call them by their names. It felt silly, but it was an escape from her harsh reality.

She hasn't done it in forever and she feels reborn in that small moment she can share with Bea.

Bea tries to give a name to this weird, blurred form in the sky. She doesn't see a prawn at all.

"No, it doesn't. It looks like a seahorse," Bea points.

"Oh shit, yeah, it does!" Allie exclaims with a childish excitement that makes Bea swoon a ridiculous amount.

Bea finds the strength to turn her head to the side to look at Allie. Messy blonde hair is flying around Allie's head and a large grin betrays how happy Allie is. It's hard to believe everything Allie has been through when she looks at her now. Bea wonders if one day, she'll look as carefree as Allie does.

"Did you know seahorses like to swim in pairs?" Allie asks as Bea turns back to the sky.

"Do they?"

"Yes, they do. They link tails, so they don't lose each other," Allie smirks, linking her pinkie with Bea's.

The small action makes Bea's heart explode in her chest. She's grateful she's lying on the ground or she would have fallen so hard she might never have been able to get up again.

Who is she kidding? She's falling regardless. Deeper and farther than she's ever fallen. She doesn't ever want to lose Allie, and by the way Allie's keeping her close, it seems to be reciprocated.

And maybe it's the way Allie's pinkie holds her closer than any embrace they have ever given each other, but Bea turns to her side to impulsively press her lips to Allie's cheek, right at the corner of her lips. She quickly goes back to her initial position, but she can _hear_ the way Allie beams.

"What was that for?" Allie slyly asks.

She's physically restraining herself not to turn and kiss Bea her senseless.

"Do I need a reason?"

Allie laughs quietly and sighs contently.

It's a perfect afternoon and she thinks she's in love.

It's the one thing she can't tell Bea, but there is one thing she can ask.

"Do you still think we're just _friends_?" she mockingly asks, referring to their latest fight.

She lets out a shriek when she feels Bea's free hand jovially slap her shoulder.

"What?" she protests with a grin. "I just want to make sure there's no misunderstanding."

She barely has time to blink before she finds herself pinned under Bea's weight, soft lips pressing on hers. She slowly closes her eyes when she feels Bea deepening the kiss. The moment Bea's moan vibrates in her mouth and sends a shock to her core, she's thankful her hands aren't free to roam over Bea's curves or she would have lost all inhibitions right this second. She gasps for air, breaking the contact before she does something she might regret.

She thinks this is what Heaven must feel like.

"Everything clear now?" Bea pants above her, eyes a shade darker than their usual light brown color.

Allie nods breathlessly as Bea moves away from her.

Why, why must Bea always move away, she wants to whine.

They remain quiet, both too concentrated on controlling their breathing to speak a word.

More clouds fly above her head, but all Allie can see are hearts and the letters that form Bea's name. She's far too gone for her own good. She didn't even know she could be that bad until she met Bea.

"What did you think of the apartment?" Bea asks after she clears her throat for the third time.

"It's great," Allie replies, head still spinning and heart still rocketing to the farthest boundaries of the universe. "I hope it works out for you."

Bea hums appreciatively. She really hopes too, that way she can finally start repaying Allie for all the help she's given her.

"I used to live in this huge fancy house," she shares, unaware that Allie already knows. "I used to have everything, but I think this small apartment could give me more than anything I've ever had."

She takes a deep breath.

In this strange place, she thinks she might finally be ready to talk to Allie about her abuse. She feels like maybe it's too late, maybe it's taken too long and she should keep it all to herself now, but Allie nudges her gently, and Bea finds her voice again.

"I don't want to scare you," she admits.

"I won't leave," Allie replies slowly.

Bea inhales deeply when she hears the words she needs most.

"He ruined that place for me," she explains slowly. "We had a pool. I brought him a lukewarm beer once and he threatened to drown Debbie if I made the same mistake again. She was three and I couldn't go to the police to ask for help because I was too scared. Now I can't see a can of beer without thinking about it."

Allie listens silently as her stomach tumbles in her belly.

What sick person threaten to drown a child?

"We had this kitchen with an island in the middle. Everyone loved it when they came to visit us. That was before he started isolating me. I burned his food one night and he threw me against it. It broke two ribs and I thought I was going to die right there because he didn't take me to the hospital until hours later. He said I needed to really learn my lesson."

Bea swallows difficultly as if the physical pain was coming back. She remembers suffocating on her own blood and being unable to get up. She remembers thinking this was the end for her.

She glances at Allie and the blonde is staring right back at her, ready to intervene at any moment. There's no disgust in her eyes, no judgment, no fear, just compassion and an openness that steals Bea's breath away.

"I can't cook without thinking that I might ruin everything if I do something wrong. I have to constantly remind myself that he's gone now and that I won't be thrown like a doll again."

Allie wants to break Harry's rib one by one and feeds on the look of pain on his face. She wants to say something, but it looks like the last thing Bea needs is to be interrupted.

"I overcooked the rice once. He took a knife and threatened me with it. He told me I should slice my skin open, see if there was anything good underneath it. He- He was about to stab me when Debbie walked in. He stopped, but I can't stop thinking, what if she hadn't? I still have nightmares about it sometimes."

Bea frowns. She can't stop. She needs to speak up. She needs to tell Allie.

"He borrowed my cards once. My credit card, my debit card, everything. He left me at home for three days without money. When he gave them back, I owed five thousand dollars to the bank, and I had one dollar left in my account. I had to work overtime to pay off the debt and I would barely see my little girl at all."

"He took my phone away and I couldn't contact anyone. He texted my friends horrible things and I- I never heard from them again," she shakes her head, thinking of everyone she's lost. "After that, I really couldn't ask anyone for help anymore. Not that I ever asked. He had this way to make me believe that he would change."

"He asked me to quit my job or he'd hurt Debbie. He said he didn't want me around other people because I belonged to him only, and he didn't like it when I paid attention to others. I refused and he locked me in my room until I accepted."

"He came home drunk too many times and I let him. He would tell me that it was because he couldn't face me without alcohol in his blood. He said that I was so terrible that he couldn't bear the thought of being with me while sober. He said I should do the same, that maybe alcohol would make my shitty personality disappear."

"He said I was useless. He said I was unloved. He said I couldn't do anything right and that he hoped I wouldn't raise Debbie to be like me. He told me the only reason Debbie was good was because of him, because half of her came from him."

"He would beg for forgiveness, take out all those flyers about how to be a better man and how to work on himself. He would call places for help on how to be better. He would tell me he was wrong and that he was sorry. He would promise me that this was truly the last time, and I believed him. I gave him so many chances…"

Bea pauses, thinking of the ways she'd let him back into her life. She was so naïve.

"It isn't your fault," Allie murmurs.

Bea nods. It isn't her fault. It took her a long time, but she knows now.

"We had this majestic king-sized bed," Bea remembers. She keeps her eyes to the sky because if she looks away, she thinks she might start crying. "It was soft and it had so many pillows on it, and he had just bought it to replace the previous one. He was proud of himself and he said I needed to reward him."

Allie braces herself for what she is sure will destroy her.

"I don't remember much about the first time," Bea reveals.

Allie hears the words echo in her brain.

 _First time._

"I told him I didn't want to, but he did it anyway."

Bea takes a deep breath.

"He told me he made the decisions here. I repeated that I didn't want to… Sometimes I think that if I hadn't resisted, maybe he would have been gentler," Bea finishes.

The words don't hurt as much as she thought they would, and she thanks Bridget mentally. The only reason she can say all of this today is because she knows now, it was never her fault and it never will be, and she did the best she could all those years.

She did the best she could.

All those years.

Allie thinks she might throw up.

"I didn't stop him after. The second time, the third time… and I stopped counting after. If he wanted it, the rest didn't matter. The more I resisted, the more painful it was, so I let him do it."

Allie thinks she can't breathe anymore, even when no one is pressing her down, even when the sky is wide open before her, and even when she can get up and run freely into the grass.

"I zoned out. And I kept zoning out until it just came naturally. I don't… I don't know what it's like, real sex," she quietly confesses.

Allie can't imagine what it must have felt like for Bea.

She wants to kill him.

And what can she say now? She doesn't have an answer to all those revelations. No words could ever compare to the unstoppable instinct she has to protect Bea.

Then again, she thinks, nothing has changed.

She still cares for Bea just as much.

She still thinks she's in love.

"You know what I want?" Bea asks, gazing vaguely in Allie's direction. "A place for myself. It doesn't matter if the walls are ugly or if the floor's cracked, or if the entire place needs to be renovated. I just want a solid roof over my head and a key to lock my door at night."

It's all she wants. Fuck the pool, fuck the fancy dining set and the luxury.

"I don't want someone hovering over me whenever I do something. I don't want someone telling me what I can or can't do. I want to be me and not feel bad about it."

It feels crazy amazing to say it.

"You know what I want?" Allie shifts closer to Bea. "I just want to be with you."

The words find home in Bea's heart.

Bea thinks that it's fitting for them to be at a cemetery after all.

There's no best place for her to bury her past once and for all.

She's ready to let it go this time.

She's ready to move on, with Allie.

"I want to eat whatever you cook and laugh with you when something accidently goes wrong," Allie chuckles like she wishes for nothing more. "I want to see you thrive at work. I want you to have the time of your life with your friends. I want you to feel like you're freaking Wonder Woman."

She pauses, lets the words sink into Bea's conscience.

"I want you to be the happiest you could ever be," Allie says, and it sounds like she's promising it all to Bea.

She holds the next words in her mind for a moment.

"I want you to tell me everything," she breathes out, locking her eyes with Bea's. "No matter what it is, you can tell me."

She means it.

She'll let Bea stop her. She'll let Bea decide. She'll even let Bea break her heart if it comes to that.

She won't ever hit back.

"I don't know when I'll be ready for… I'm not ready, right now." Bea replies, letting the rest of her words disappear.

It feels so good to say it. It feels like she isn't just saying it to Allie.

It feels like she's only saying it for all those times in the past where she hadn't been able to let those words out.

It feels like she finally has a voice that will be listened to. It feels like she will finally be cared for. It doesn't feel as scary as it used to be, to voice what she wants and what she needs.

"I would never force you," Allie whispers, suddenly worried she might have done something to suggest otherwise.

Bea didn't know she needed those words until she heard them loud and clear.

"I know," she swallows slowly. "I just – what if it isn't -"

The words are running away from her again and she can't chase them hard enough, so she just hopes that Allie uses her superpower to read her mind again.

So many unsaid things. So much pressure.

She wants to scream, but Allie's thumb is brushing her cheek and it sends tingles all over her body.

"Hey," Allie softly says. "It's alright."

She cups Bea's cheeks.

"I meant it when I said I want you to tell me everything, but only if you want to."

She moves closer until her lips brush against Bea's.

"The words you want to tell me? I'll cherish them."

She looks right into Bea's soul.

"And the words you don't want to say? They're yours to keep."

She waits until Bea sees her soul too.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She kisses her like she's afraid she might lose her. It's chaste and fragile, and full of hope, and Allie tries to move back, only for Bea to follow her and keep their lips sealed together.

Bea smiles into the kiss.

Allie is staying.

"I'm not going anywhere either," Bea murmurs when they separate.

Allie feels the last spark of doubt fly away from them.

* * *

A single lamp offers her some light when the night falls. Silence becomes her loyal companion as she sits at a table in the living room and concentrates on the blank sheet of paper in front of her. She makes the pen in her hand twirl a few times before she accidentally drops it the floor. The sound it makes when it hits the floor is enough to make her flinch. She sighs and writes a few words before she crosses them harshly.

She's still so furious at everything she's learned today that even the late hour can't prevent her eyes from shooting daggers at everything around her. The chair? Boom, broken. The wall? Crash, down. The ceiling? Pow, gone. She feels like she could storm off from here, find a way to make a deal with the devil, and then run to Harry's place to destroy him just the way he did Bea's life.

She scribbles a few scenarios, but she groans in frustration a few minutes later. It isn't good enough. It doesn't make her feel satisfied at all. It doesn't seem big enough to reach this ideal of justice that she firmly believes in. She wears that belief like a crown and she wouldn't take it off even if she had a gun pointed at her head.

A thousand ideas are bouncing in her brain and she has a hard time to examine them one at a time. Assault? Accident? Robbery? Damage to property? Arson? Fraud? Frame the guy for murder? Those are all things she's done before, during her glory years with the Red Right Hand. She knows how to do it, and how to do it well enough so that the deal remains untraceable to her. She wants to make all of them happen. Maybe then, it will feel like a fair revenge.

She wants him to rot in jail until the end of his miserable pathetic life.

But confidence is dangerously close to arrogance, and she knows that she can't make decisions without having a thorough plan. A flawless idea doesn't exist, and the possibility that it might be the one mischief that will lead her to prison cannot be neglected. She remembers Kaz telling her those words when they'd first started targeting her violent clients.

 _Don't be too sure of yourself, that is how you make mistakes._

She dismisses the idea of assaulting the man. It would be too easy to make a mistake, and she doesn't want Bea to be wrongfully accused of taking revenge on her violent ex-husband. Whatever she decides to do, she must leave Bea out of it. It must appear entirely accidental. It won't be a robbery either. She doesn't know what kind of alarms surround Harry's house, and she doesn't know the layout of the building. She can't take the risk of being trapped inside.

And if she came back with whatever object from Bea's house, Bea would figure out it was her.

Would Bea ever understand? Encourage her? Or hate her?

She should ask Bea, but then, she risks ruining everything between them.

If Bea hates her, what would she do then?

No. No way. They've finally found each other, she won't jeopardize this by telling Bea.

It has to be completely anonymous.

She can find a way to make significant damage to the property, but would that be enough? Would it be enough to equal years of domestic violence?

Allie starts writing.

* * *

The phone call is a miracle. It comes when Bea least expects it. She's barely awake, her brain still foggy from the nearly forgotten dreams she's had, when there's a strong knock on her door. She tries to find enough strength to answer, but her vocal chords don't cooperate. She groans what she hopes is a friendly sound.

"There's a phone call for you in the office," Vera informs her, slightly opening the door. "Are you available to answer it or should I tell them to call later?"

Bea thinks she mutters something that resembles a vague "I'll take it" as she gets dressed quickly and puts on her shoes before she exits her room. She yawns when she walks into the office and Vera points to the phone silently. She takes it, wondering who the hell is calling her at the crack of dawn, before she realizes that it's already nine o'clock. She clearly overslept, and she still feels like she could go right back to bed.

"Hello?" she says with a tired voice.

"Is this Bea Smith?"

The voice sounds familiar, like she's spoken with its owner recently, but her exhausted self can't quite recognize it.

"Yes."

"I'm calling about the apartment you visited yesterday. The place is yours if you want it."

Bea almost drops the phone. She opens her eyes so wide that she feels she's seeing the office for the first time. Her jaw hits the floor and all trace of fatigue disappears from her mind. She's afraid that she might be dreaming, but the questioning look that Vera sends her way is real. She tightens her grip on the phone, afraid that if she stops holding it, the moment will vanish.

"Really? It's- it's mine?" she gasps.

It's hers, and hers alone. No lease to share with anyone. No obligations to keep her tied up to a man she doesn't love. No familiar walls that remind her of the various times she was thrown violently against them. This time, she can start again for real, in a place that she already loves, in a place where she's already imagined traces of a magical future.

It can all come true now. She has a real shot at making every dream happen.

She can't wait to tell Allie.

Gosh, she isn't sure what she's most excited for: this moment, or the moment she'll tell Allie.

She can already imagine the blonde's widest smile.

She can already feel Allie's arms around her neck.

She can already smell Allie's familiar scent as she'd lean closer to capture her lips with her own in a celebratory kiss.

She turns pink when she notices Vera staring at her amusedly.

"Yes. You can come sign the papers when you are free and then, you can move in when you want. We can make an arrangement for the first month of rent. I've spoken to Franky, your reference. She assured me that I could trust you."

Bea smiles so wide that her dry lips crack and bleed a little, but she couldn't care less.

She realizes that this is what happiness feels like.

It's a little imperfect, but it's insanely joyful and exhilarating. It brings her to the top of the world while keeping her anchored to the solid, safe ground.

She turns to face Vera with stars in her eyes

"I have a place," she declares like she's won the lottery. She lets out a dozen 'thank you' and sighs a couple more times before she ends the call with a heavy, relieved heart.

She skips joyfully to Vera and practically dances as she tells her the details.

Vera looks at her proudly, assuring her that she can stay at Wentworth until she finds enough furniture to move into her new apartment. When she looks at the way Bea's radiating happiness, she is reminded why she does this job, why she loves it so much. At the end of the day, there are many priceless moments of joy that triumph over the tragic nature of domestic violence.

Bea practically runs to Maxine's room to tell her the news.

As she crosses the distance in the hallway, she feels momentarily at the top of the world.

For a second, she forgets that today, Debbie is leaving the country.

For a second, she forgets that Debbie's plane is already heading for the clouds.

For a second, she forgets that it is too late.

When she remembers, she brutally stops in the hallway.

Debbie is gone, and they didn't say goodbye.

Happiness is also painfully temporary, she thinks.

* * *

 **7 chapters to go!**


	12. Held prisoner of war

**Chapter's title comes from "Sunrise", the acoustic version, by Our Last Night**

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Held prisoner of war**

The first day Allie Novak spies on Harry Smith is the moment she knows she's not allowed to make mistakes anymore.

She almost gets caught when he brutally turns around and runs back to his house, having forgotten something. She launches herself behind the largest tree she can find, lungs aching and heart pounding in her chest. She quickly notes her observations and waits until she's sure that he won't come back before she does a quick scan of the house. She writes down the location of every window and every door, and she draws a rough sketch of the different rooms of the house.

The second day, she arrives before he wakes up. It's easy for her to leave the shelter she's in. It's not like Wentworth, she can exit whenever she pleases.

She watches his shadow behind the curtains and she notices that he mostly stays in the kitchen and the living room, rarely in his bedroom. She waits until he leaves for work and notes the hour. She follows him all day, to his workplace and to the little restaurant where he eats lunch. She watches him until the moon replaces the sun, and she leaves when he turns off all lights and falls asleep. Her back aches and her stomach growls, but she beams with the new data she's gathered.

The third day, she expects him to be suspicious. She isn't the subtlest person in the world, and even though she tries her best to hide, there are chances it isn't enough.

She waits until he's gone to read what she's noted so far. He eats breakfast at seven in the morning, takes a shower that lasts ten minutes, and leaves for work about fifteen minutes later. He locks his door, takes his car and doesn't come back home until five thirty in the evening. He eats at home, cooks for himself, and stays in the living room to watch tv until he heads for bed. Sometimes, he seems to be talking on the phone, but most of the time, he's alone. It's been like this for three days.

The fourth day, he comes back from work and leaves his place about fifteen minutes later.

She frowns at the inconsistency with the previous day, but everything makes sense when she sees him coming back with a few bags from the grocery store. She stares as he unloads his car, leaving the door wide open while he goes back and forth between the house and the vehicle. It takes him about five minutes before he locks his car and walks into his house for the evening. The curtains are wide open, and she doesn't leave until he's done cooking.

The fifth day, she follows him to work again, wanting to see if there's anything different than the days before.

He arrives at work at eight thirty and only leaves at one in the afternoon to go for lunch. His break lasts an hour, during which he goes to the same restaurant to eat lunch. He goes back directly to work, using the same road that he did last time. He leaves the office at five o'clock and drives home directly. He doesn't stop anywhere. When he's back, he starts cooking and doesn't waste a moment before he's back in the living room for the evening.

The sixth day, it's Saturday, and she notes everything in her notebook. It's not much different than his weekday.

He wakes up around nine in the morning, gets breakfast, takes a ten minutes shower, and heads out. She follows him as he runs errands, but by noon, he's stopped at a bar. She takes a table in the farthest corner and orders a plate of fries. She eats as slowly as she can, scrutinizing him as he drinks many beers. He stays there until it's dark outside and then, he drives back home, and she shivers when she realizes he's not nearly sober enough to take the wheel.

The seventh day is a copy of Saturday, except it's Sunday.

He leaves home as early as he did before, and she wonders why he's not sick from the night before. He drives aimlessly before he arrives at the bar at noon, orders a glass of beer, and plays pool with man she doesn't recognize. She lets her eyes wander around. It's a normal bar, with loud music being blasted from the speakers as soon as the sun goes down in the sky. He leaves the bar and drives home at the same time as Saturday's.

He wakes up the next day and his habits haven't changed.

It takes over a week, but Allie thinks she's cracked Harry's routine.

She doesn't tell Bea.

* * *

The first day Bea Smith walks in the library to stalk Brayden Holt, she heads straight for the computers.

She sits at a desk and stares blankly at the dark screen for a few minutes before she sighs and finally presses the power button. It feels like it takes years for the screen to display the familiar _Google_ search page. She lets her fingers hover over the keyboard. She closes her fists, opens them, clenches them, fidgets with her fingers and the palms of her hands until she slaps them together and rubs them in a nervous motion. She can't press a single key. She leaves an hour later.

The second day, she tells herself that today is the day, that yesterday was a simple glitch in her life. She nods to herself when she finally types a few words.

The clicking sound is the proof that she's doing it, that she's not backing off. The _Facebook_ page loads and Bea logs into an account that she hasn't used in years. She barely recognizes herself on her own profile picture, and she doesn't know the majority of her so-called friends anymore. She types the name of her daughter in the search bar, but she can't press enter. They are friends on this social media, but it still feels wrong to spy her. She leaves, disappointed in herself.

The third day, she tries calling Debbie. There's no answer, no matter how many times she calls or texts, and she thinks that if she keeps going, her own daughter might file a restraining order against her.

It's been too long since she heard Debbie's voice, and she has no idea what is going on oversea. She's trying to keep the terrible theories out of her mind, but they keep knocking down her rationality, and soon, she's scared that she's too late to save Debbie. She cries herself to sleep, and the next morning, she feels sick.

The fourth day, she runs back to the library, slams the door open and goes online without a second thought.

She finds her daughter's profile without any trouble, and relief washes over her when she sees that the latest post is from a few hours ago. Debbie wrote that she's having a good time at the cabin, and there's a picture attached. Debbie's smile is worth a fortune, and Bea stares at the image until her eyes burn. There's a man in the picture, his arm around Debbie's shoulders, and Bea doesn't need to check the name to know that he's the infamous boyfriend.

The fifth day, she notices that Debbie has posted a lot of things online. Quotes, memories, more pictures, a few anecdotes from her classes.

Bea marvels at all the details from Debbie's life, details that she's never had access to because Debbie refused to speak to her on the phone. She learns that Debbie's grades are beyond amazing, that Debbie's been invited to way too many parties in the recent weeks, and that the cabin is just another excuse to drink. She worries, but Debbie's smile is still as brilliant as ever.

The sixth day, she clicks on Brayden's name. She isn't his friend, so she doesn't have access to many things, but she notices that he's changed his relationship status a few months ago, proving that he's been dating Debbie for a while.

His profile picture is simple. It's just him, staring right at the camera and posing with a smile that Bea can't identify. She wonders if it's confidence, arrogance, or a mix of both. She wonders if this is Brayden's real face, or if there is more to him than this smile. She almost sends him a message, but she stops herself just in time. She can't risk breaking her relationship with Debbie even more than she already has.

The seventh day, she's right on time to see Debbie's newest post.

It's a picture of her with Brayden and a couple more friends. They're all posing comically with a sublime view of the lake behind them. Debbie has a smile on her lips while Brayden appears to be sneaking from behind her, sticking his tongue at the person taking the picture. Bea looks at the picture for a long time, engraving the way Debbie glows in her brain.

Debbie doesn't have this fearful look in her eyes, she doesn't seem like she's about to run away, or like she's tiptoeing around her words. She looks free. She looks happy. She looks proud.

It takes a week, but Bea thinks she's ready to give Brayden Holt a chance.

* * *

"You're moving tomorrow," Allie smiles when she sees Bea walking in her direction with a small paper bag in her hands. She stands up and welcomes Bea with a tight embrace.

It's the middle of the day and they're meeting at _their_ park for what Allie believes will be the last time. Gone will be their late-night exchanges or their midnight adventures. After all, Bea will be moving to her new apartment in less than twenty-four hours, and it isn't quite close to Wentworth or this park. It's in a different district, with new places to explore and new memories to make.

Allie feels a bit sad.

Bea's moving forward. It's the beginning of the end. She'll have to work. She'll have to cook for herself. She'll have to create her own little routine that might not leave time for sleepless nights or secret conversations. She'll have to juggle with new responsibilities. Really, she's doing good, great even.

And Allie? Allie still feels like she has mountains to climb and oceans to swim across.

She feels like she's nowhere near where Bea is, and if she doesn't hurry the hell up, she might never catch up. She still has to find a place to stay so she can leave this godforsaken shelter she's staying at and focus on finding a job.

"I'm not going so far," Bea chuckles when Allie squeezes the life out of her.

"It's the end of an era," Allie replies, head buried in Bea's hair. "We met here, remember? And you were like a lost puppy, and you didn't even want to accept a snack from me. It's hard to think it's only been a few months."

There's something in the way that Allie says those words that makes Bea's lips curl up to a melancholic smile.

"You're doing better too," Bea points out, detaching herself from Allie's clingy arms so she can kiss her cheek gently. "We both are different, don't you think? In a good way."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you can finally leave Wentworth," Allie declares as she sits on the bench and pulls Bea close to her. "I'm just going to miss that."

"What do you mean?"

"This," Allie gestures between the two of them. "Us, just knowing where to go to be together, no matter what time it is or what the world around us is doing."

Bea nods silently. She'll miss that too. She won't have to ask permission to walk out the door at five in the morning, but then again, she doesn't think she'll have the opportunity to do so anymore. And she isn't naïve, she knows that Allie will need time to figure some things out too.

Their perfect balance couldn't last forever.

"Are you really okay?" Allie murmurs, eyes glancing down at Bea's thighs. She wishes she didn't have to ask, but she does, because she doesn't know how else to stop her heart from worrying.

Bea swallows difficultly.

She can feel the tingles from the healing scars whenever she walks. She's acutely aware that she's cut herself not too long ago and that her battle isn't over yet. She thinks that if anyone else had found her that night, the impact wouldn't have been the same. She might have continued. She might have given up. She might have lied to Allie.

She wants to say that she's doing better, but she isn't sure of the answer herself. What if she's fooling herself? What is the monster is just hiding before it surprises her again, stronger than before?

It feels like the second the words will leave her mouth, everything might crash again. If she admits that she's fine, then the universe might go against her to prove her just how wrong she is.

She thinks of her job, of her apartment, of her plans for tomorrow when she'll move in. She thinks of her last night at Wentworth, and how she'll miss her room despite everything that has happened.

Her room had witnessed the burning bridges between her daughter and she. It had also seen the triumph of Allie against the drugs. It had heard her laughs and her cries at different moments of her stay. It had shaken to her prayers and winced under her punches. It had listened to her pleas and trembled to the sound of her screaming voice. It had grown with her.

She thinks she'll leave a piece of her soul in that room.

"I'm doing better," she smiles. "I haven't hurt myself."

Allie nods firmly and squeezes Bea's hand in approval.

"You'll tell me if you want to, right?" she asks with a small, insecure voice.

"Yeah," Bea lets out with a strangled voice.

She doesn't quite believe in her own words, and Allie knows it.

"I'm serious," Allie adds after a few seconds of silence.

"I know."

"So will you? Tell me?"

Bea can promise Allie that she will tell her, but if it ever happens, in the spur of the moment, she has no way of predicting her reaction. Still, she believes Allie will find her, like she's always done.

"I promise I'll try," she concedes.

It's the best she can do and Allie accepts it.

They remain quiet for a while and watch the clouds. One of them looks like a seahorse, and they both smile knowingly, rich with a fortune of their own, their eyes glued to the sky.

For a moment, Bea forgets that she's on the ground. She thinks she's one with the fabric of the sky itself, weightless and fearless, and that she could shout her words and let go of her cursed memories where no one can hear her. The birds would pass her by and try to decode her language, but they'd give up and carry on to their unknown destinations. And she'd keep floating away from her damaged past.

Her breath itches when she comes back down to Earth and realizes that Allie's lips are so close to hers that it's a miracle she can't feel them on her own. Her eyes focus on Allie's and she wonders why she's dreaming about the sky when the bluest shades are right there in front of her.

"I thought you'd never come back," Allie whispers, pressing a chaste kiss on Bea's lips.

It barely lasts, but it's enough to melt Bea's heart.

An obvious idea crosses her mind and she desperately tries to find the right words to tell Allie.

She wishes she were back to the old times, when the smallest piece of paper could be folded in half, its precious message well guarded inside as it made its way across a classroom, from one student to another.

All Allie would have to do is check _yes_ or _no_ , and Bea wouldn't ever need to hear the possible rejection out loud.

But she has no pen with her, and she isn't in a classroom anymore, and her feelings are a bit too intense to be written on a piece of paper.

She takes the key out of the paper bag she's been holding and shows it to Allie.

"This is the key to my new place."

Allie grins like Bea is holding the winning lottery ticket.

"I learned a lot of things when I was with Harry," Bea whispers, twirling the key in her hand, feeling every part of the hard, cold metal on her skin. "I learned to hate my body. I learned to stay quiet when I wanted to yell. I learned that money couldn't save a life, and that punching back wasn't always helpful. I learned how to speak in code with my daughter, and how to lie to the entire world."

She pauses and licks her lips. She wants to kiss away the frown on Allie's face. It's adorable, but it doesn't belong on Allie's face.

"And with you, I learned how to love myself and how to speak out loud," she finishes with a quiet exhale. "I learned to live, and to see a future, and it's fucking glorious."

She scoffs softly.

"What if we could still be together, no matter what time it is?" Bea thinks out loud.

What if we didn't have to say goodbye anymore?

What if we woke up together every morning and went to bed together every night?

What if we started building our own castle already?

"I want you to come live with me. I want this to be the key to _our_ new place. It's the least I can do. You've helped me more than you can imagine."

She blinks confusedly when Allie moves away from her.

She misses her proximity already.

"For a moment, I thought you were going to propose," Allie breathes out heavily, unsure whether she's reassured or even more freaked out by Bea's suggestion.

She still isn't used to the idea that someone, someone like Bea, might care for her.

That someone like Bea might want to keep her around.

Bea's mouth hangs open for a few seconds before she quickly closes it and clears her throat, looking away in embarrassment.

"Nah, that's not – That's too – You know," she stutters. "Just, move in with me. It's a small, reasonable request."

She tried being married before. It didn't work out. She isn't even sure if she'll ever want to entertain that idea again.

The blonde appears to be thinking about Bea's words for a moment. She doesn't say anything, just frowns, and blinks, and looks away like she's uncomfortable being here. She doesn't separate her hand from Bea's, but it becomes hot and sweaty. For a second, Bea thinks that Allie is having a stroke.

"I can't," Allie replies, a bit taken aback by the request. "I don't have anything, Bea. I can't just move in with you and help you pay rent."

There's a reason she'd chosen to live in the streets before. Sure, she didn't have any money, and that played a big role in her decision, but that's not just it.

She had a home and she was kicked out for being gay, and then again, for working the streets.

She had a home and her lover cheated on her and introduced her to drugs.

She had a home and she got expulsed the second she relapsed.

She'll lose it. She'll betray Bea and she'll find herself in the streets again, and it'll hurt so much more than before.

"I don't need you to help with rent. You can take your time, find a job… I know it isn't easy."

"No, Bea. I can't."

Bea leans closer, identifying Allie's fears.

"You gave me a job. You encouraged me when I couldn't find a place. You held my hands when I couldn't control myself anymore. It's stupid and maybe I'm wrong and delusional, but you're the reason I've gotten that far. I- I don't have a castle to give you, but I'm thinking we don't need one. I owe you so much, and you need a place, and this is something I can offer you."

"You really want to live with me?" Allie smirks, insecurities dancing in her blue orbs. "You're not afraid you're going to discover I'm a serial killer or I have terrible habits."

"I already spend most of my days with you, it can't be much worse. I tolerate you enough to be your housemate," Bea replies with a heavy voice that illustrates how terrible this burden it.

She receives a playful slap on the shoulder as Allie shakes her head at her.

"Really, I'm asking you," Bea repeats, "move in with me?"

"I have nothing," Allie states like a mantra.

She has a few clothes, a few items, and the heaviest past she carries continuously.

"Good," Bea replies with a confident smile. "That's exactly what I'm asking from you. Nothing."

"You'll regret it and then I'll have to start again," Allie says jokingly with a trembling voice.

"Maybe I'll regret it," Bea admits. She can't see the future after all. "Maybe this is a rushed idea, but look at us! We're the definition of insanity. We're the definition of a fate full of madness. We should live up to our reputation and keep going."

Allie's eyes twinkle with a new hope and a warm feeling fills her chest.

"Fine. But only because we're crazy."

"You make me do crazy things," Bea shrugs like it's all Allie's fault.

"You make me crazy," Allie replies without missing a beat.

* * *

Bea shows up at Allie's shelter a couple hours later.

She waits until Allie peaks her head out of the building and comes join her.

She watches with a smile as Allie skips to her in her usual childish way.

"What do you have for me?" Allie asks with a sly grin.

Bea chuckles and pulls a single key out of her back pocket.

"You should have let me get it myself," Allie laughs as she takes the key in her hand.

She's holding freedom in her hand.

"Do you like it?" Bea asks, pointing to the small engraved _A_ in the key. "It's yours."

"I love it," Allie replies, heart beating fast and full of life.

 _I love …_

* * *

She can't believe she'll leave this room tomorrow morning. She doesn't want to go to bed, for it is too exciting, too stressful to rest her head on the pillow and beg for sleep to come rescue her. She walks out of her room a little after midnight and heads for the living room. Without any surprise, she finds Maxine reading a book. Boomer is sleeping soundly next to her, head falling to the side.

Maxine looks up and smiles when she sees her friend approaching. She puts her book on the small coffee table and she motions for Bea to sit beside her. The couch squeaks when Bea willingly obeys. A lone lamp lights up the room, and their shadows are projected on the walls around them, like guards protecting their small unplanned meeting. Bea looks down at her hands and only meets Maxine's eyes when the silence is broken.

"Last night, are you excited?" Maxine asks with a hushed voice.

"When are you leaving?" Bea frowns, dodging the question because she doesn't know at all how she feels.

She's been here two months. That's the maximum amount of the time Wentworth lets anyone stay here. Maxine and Boomer should have gone by now, or at least, they should be trying to find a place.

"I don't know. I was told that they could wait until I got treatment, and then find a place to move."

"Good," Bea nods. "You shouldn't move too much, you know?"

Maxine laughs a little, and throws her signature _it'll be alright_ look at Bea.

"Do you know when the operation will be?"

"In a few weeks. It's the earliest they can take me. Boomer insisted that she comes with me, but I think she'll be moving out. She applied for another shelter, one that rents small apartments and offers some more support. I think she's afraid to tell me that she got in."

There's a small hint of disappointment in Maxine's voice.

"She doesn't want to hurt you," Bea says.

"She's hurting me by not telling me," Maxine answers sadly.

They both look at Boomer's sleeping figure for a moment. The woman has a heart of gold and the purest intentions, but sometimes, like everyone, she doesn't make the best decisions.

It's gigantic, the number of people that are hurt by things left unsaid, everyday. Whoever decided that hiding the truth was easier than the opposite was wrong, Maxine thinks with a raging sadness in her chest.

"It's so strange, everyone's leaving," Bea sighs. "It'll be like we were never here."

Maxine closes her eyes, and Bea has a small moment of panic during which she imagines herself yelling for help and rushing Maxine to the hospital, but soon again, Maxine looks at her like she knows the secrets of the universe.

"We're leaving so others like us can find a home," she simply says, and Bea loves how Maxine always seems to find the perfect thing to say at the perfect time.

She relaxes her shoulders and falls deeper into the comfort of the couch. She grins wider when she hears the light snores coming from Boomer's direction, but she doesn't say anything.

Maxine gets up to get a cuppa and when she comes back, she lets a few minutes pass before she speaks again.

"I don't know where I'm going after, but I'm not afraid because I'll have you guys. I had many nights like this, where I'd sit and read and wait for morning to come. And most of the time, I was alone, until you came along. If I ever need company, I'll just ring you and you'll come running," she eyes Bea and Boomer, and she speaks like she doesn't have a life-threatening illness.

Bea snorts and agrees. There's nothing she wouldn't do for her friends.

"I understand how Franky felt when she left this place," Bea whispers. "It's terrifying."

She's gotten used to this place, to its laws and its rhythm. She'll have to learn how to cook again, how to do grocery shopping, how to lock the door herself every time she leaves her place. She'll have to organize her schedule so that she has enough time to run errands and sleep a decent amount. She'll have to get accustomed to a new street, a new park, a new life. She'll have to get used to the silence, because there won't be any kids around her anymore, or any mothers yelling orders at their family.

She'll have to take the freedom that is offered to her, and make sure she doesn't abuse it, make sure she still has enough organization in her life. She won't have any meetings with social workers telling her what's best for her. She won't have someone always watching her every move. She won't have to share a damn bathroom with a dozen other people, and that's the smallest, most important thing she can think about.

"I asked Allie to move in with me. She agreed," Bea's triumphal look while she says this is priceless and makes Maxine's eyes shine with joy. "We're going to live together."

"Of course, she agreed. Was there ever a doubt you two wouldn't end up living together? I could have guessed it from the very first time I saw you both."

"She refused at first," Bea explains. "She said she didn't have anything to bring with her."

"She'll come around naked?" Maxine nudges Bea's shoulder.

A tomato wouldn't be redder than Bea's face.

Hell, the color red wouldn't be redder than Bea's face.

"That's the worst joke I've ever heard," Bea mutters, begging the blood to leave her face. "And you know exactly what I meant."

"Oh, come on, Bea, I have eyes. She looks great. You're telling me you've never thought about it?"

The problem isn't that she's never thought about it, it's that she can't stop thinking about it recently, and that she has no clue where to go from there. She's told Allie about nearly everything she could think of, and Allie has been nothing but understanding.

But does that mean that she'll have to be the one dictating their pace? She's freaking out just thinking about it, and it's only now that she's realizing that sharing a place with Allie means that they'll inevitably see each other without three layers of clothes on.

"You never told me, but did you finally tell her you like her?" Maxine changes the subject and the blood literally drains from Bea's face within seconds. They're heading in a dangerous territory.

Bea shakes her head and avoids Maxine's piercing eyes.

"Bea Smith, you promised! I'm a dying woman!" Maxine claims, both hands dramatically pressed against her chest. "You wouldn't deny me my last wishes, would you?"

"Piss off. I wanted to and then she told me about Debbie and… and I lost it, and then there just wasn't time."

She thinks to herself that yes, there were plenty of time, but it's not her fault the words were stuck in her brain and didn't want to come out through her mouth.

Maxine rolls her eyes

"You're an idiot."

"I know!" Bea protests, still unable to forget the most horrible conversation of her life. "Trust me, I know."

"Do you really? Or do I need to knock some sense into your brain? I may be sick, but I'm still strong enough."

"I don't need you to do anything," Bea frowns.

"Did you apologize?" Maxine's accusatory tone is carved in diamonds.

"Of course, I did!"

Maxine still glares at her like she made the worst mistake of her life, and Bea squirms on the couch. Maxine thinks for a moment before she lets another one of her famous life lessons out of her mouth. Bea wonders what she'll do without her daily dose of wisdom from Maxine.

"People like Allie, you don't find them twice in your life."

"What does that mean?" Bea asks with a grumpy voice, acting like a five years old kid being scolded by their parent.

"It means you don't do stupid things to drive them away," Maxine sighs, shaking her head at her friend. "Like you did. How many times will I have to tell you? I won't always be there to teach you about life! You need to step up."

"I get it, alright?! I already had Franky on my back. I messed up, but it's fine now. We're fine. We're moving in together."

And just like that, Bea's smile on back on her face and a dreamy look masks any other less positive emotions from her features. She looks like she's Totally In Love, with all the capital letters necessary, and part of Maxine cheers and celebrates while the other part is slightly disgusted.

Maxine stares longingly at Bea, a small smile on her lips and an explosion of emotions in her eyes.

"I'm happy for you, Bea," she declares with a soft voice. "You deserve this, love."

Bea shakes her head in denial.

"I don't, but Allie does. I'll give her a place where she'll have a fair chance at this. I don't feel like I've given her enough," Bea admits. "I just don't know what to do exactly."

Maxine hums knowingly. She sips her tea without a word, waiting for Bea to say anything else. She wonders if Bea is tired yet. It's late, and while the pain in her body keeps her awake, she knows the ache in Bea's head might be greater.

She's going to miss those conversations. She's going to miss the constant ways she can tease Bea about her relationship. She's going to miss Bea's comforting eyes on her, and the way Bea never treats her differently, no matter how shitty she might feel at the end of a day.

"I just hope it'll be enough for her," Bea huffs.

"I was afraid that I'd lose you," Maxine replies softly. "And Franky, and Booms, when I received more news on my cancer. I was afraid I wouldn't be enough anymore. I knew I already didn't do much, but this time, I'd really be stuck in bed rest for a few months. And I thought, surely, these women will have more important things to do than to look after me. They'll stop humouring me and they'll finally drop me."

She used to not sleep, overthinking about what she'd do once her support system would leave her.

"You don't need to bring anything more than yourself to be enough for someone. I think Allie knows it," Maxine insists.

She takes a dramatic pause and winks at her friend.

"But you, Bea Smith, you have so much to learn," Maxine says with a disappointed voice, eyes shining with malice.

Bea scoffs loudly and narrows her eyes at Maxine.

"I'm older than you are."

"You still don't know shit! Even after two months here," Maxine states the obvious with a shrug. "But it's okay, I accept you as you are. Lack of neurons and all that."

"Shut up!" Bea laughs.

The conversation takes a lighter turn when they spend a few minutes teasing each other and trying to watch the volume of their voices. They freeze when Boomer moves in her sleep, and starts again, louder than before, when they remember that Boomer could sleep through an earthquake.

"Thank you for talking to me on my first night here," Bea praises when she finally gets up to go back to her room, "you made me feel welcome."

Maxine nods, absently looking at the ceiling.

"Thank you for talking to me on your last night here."

Bea's foot kicks Maxine, as if it was the redhead's way of telling her that she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

She glances one last time at her room before she finally shuts the door, locking away two months of her life behind. She stands silently in front of it for a few seconds, and takes a deep breath before she walks away.

Her last conversation with Vera is short. It consists of them talking about what she's accomplished in the last two months, what she's proud of and what she knows she must keep working on. Despite a few sentences muttered half-heartfeltly about Harry, it is a successful positive meeting, and Bea leaves the office with a satisfied smile on her face.

She walks down to the garage with Liz, and reminisces about her arrival. She'd been terrified of this cold, lifeless garage that made her believe she was stepping into a human trafficking scheme. She'd feared that she'd made the wrong choice, only to realize that she hadn't, when she'd met Maxine and had her first conversation with another woman.

She looks at the garage now. It's filled with hidden warmth and she can almost hear the sound of the thousands of women who have come and go over the years. She can almost hear the thud of the various suitcases being placed carefully on the ground, the cries from the frightened children, and the mothers' worried voices. She can also imagine the relief painting those walls on every departure day, and the hope that flies permanently in the air of this darkened jewel of the world.

"Good luck, Bea," Liz smiles when they're about to part.

Bea nods once.

Liz. That comforting voice in the night. The reasons she's alive now. The reason she's moving on.

She owes her too much to put it into words, but she tries her best to convey everything with a simple look.

When she turns around and the garage door closes behind her, she doesn't look back.

* * *

"Thank you, girls!" Bea screams to Franky and Bridget's silhouettes when all her boxes are finally inside her new apartment. She waits for them to disappear down the street before she closes the door. She locks it, more like a habit than anything else. It feels like she hasn't done this simple gesture in years.

She turns around and stares around at her new kingdom. The place is just as she'd expect it to be for someone who just moved in. It's mostly chaotic, with boxes piling up all around the living room, ready to be dispatched around the apartment, and Bea looks at this warzone with pride. It's her warzone.

In the past week, Bea's managed to find a few things on her own, calling every place she knew that sold furniture at a lower price. A new couch is placed neatly in the living room. A fridge is awaiting to be filled with delicious food in the kitchen. An oven is ready to cook the best meals. And in the master room down the hall, Bea knows she'll find a beautiful bed that was donated kindly by Wentworth. All that's missing is another bed for the smaller room, a television, and maybe a computer if she can afford it. Her laundry will need to be done at a shop down the street for now.

The place would look empty to any foreign eyes, but to her, it's brilliant. It's a sunny day outside, and the light fills the room like it's been blessed by the skies above.

With Allie standing in the middle of it all, with only a small backpack on her back, blonde hair shining brighter than the sun and blue eyes admiring everything they've accomplished, Bea feels absolutely complete.

"I'll put some boxes away," Allie smiles, heading for the bedroom. "You seem like you need some alone time."

She leaves without another word and Bea is left in the silence.

She doesn't say anything for a while, just look around, afraid that if she speaks, words are going to steal the magic out of this moment. It's hard to believe that if she walks a few steps, she'll reach her own bedroom, and that the couch she can throw herself on is theirs, and no one else's.

She hasn't asked yet if Allie would share her room. She wants to, she just doesn't want to think about what it means. It's one step to ask Allie to come live here, it's another one to ask her to share her bed.

The only time they slept next to each other was when Allie was kicking drugs out of her body. They had a reason, a very rational, solid reason. But if they sleep in the same bed now, they don't have a reason.

She sits on the couch and lays her head against its back. She listens to the sound of Allie opening boxes and emptying their contents around the apartment. It's the perfect symphony.

She can't quite grasp the idea that there will be no violence in this newfound home. No one is going to wait for her when she gets back from work, ordering her around and making her cook dinner even when she's so tired she can barely stand. These walls will never hear her screaming in fear for her life, never hear her pleading to be left alone. These doors will never be slammed against her face. These windows will never be covered with curtains with sole purpose of hiding her battered self from the rest of the world.

Nothing feels stranger and better than this moment.

She loses track of time until an exhausted Allie joins her on the couch.

"You're making me do all the work, is that why you wanted me to move in?" Allie asks with an amused voice. "You're so cruel."

Bea shrugs.

"You can leave if you want," she mocks the blonde. "The door's right there. Lock it on your way out. And then just leave the key there."

"Fine, I know the way out," Allie stands up, pretending to be offended. "I'll give you a minute before you regret it."

She winks playfully when she really does leave, closing harshly the door in a fake attempt at being angry.

Bea hears the way the door lock and nervously looks around, wondering if it is really a joke. A minute passes and Allie doesn't come back, and Bea's heart is nervously beating faster and faster. She's about to get up and chase after the girl when she glances down at the empty space left by Allie and frowns at a small package wrapped in brown paper.

She has no idea how she's managed not to notice it until now. Clearly, she's spent too much time in her head lately. She looks at it. She can't remember packing anything like that. She can't recognize it either.

She takes it slowly in her hands, sliding her fingers gently on the paper. She can guess by the way it feels that it is a book. She turns the package around. She carefully tears the paper apart and her eyes widen in disbelief when she realizes what she's holding.

It's a drawing book. A beautiful, shiny, perfect drawing book, filled with blank pages ready to welcome Bea's talents. It isn't like the ones she'd had before. It's smaller, and thinner, but it's just the perfect size to capture anything she'd want.

She used to believe that holding a drawing book would make her feel sad, but she knows now that she was wrong.

It takes her breath away.

"Do you like it?"

Bea jumps ten feet in the air at the sound of Allie's voice. She's been so busy admiring the object that she hadn't even heard the door opening again.

"I was listening through the door. I heard the paper. This place isn't soundproof," Allie adds. "We'll have to be really quiet, if you know what I mean."

She wiggles her brows and Bea laughs out loud, tasting the first real moment of happiness this apartment witnesses.

"See, that was too loud," Allie winks. "'We'll have to fix that."

She walks quickly to Bea and presses a kiss on her lips. She smiles when she feels Bea shaking against her and pulls back.

Bea laughs louder, unable to keep the joy inside of her, and the sound is so perfect that Allie wishes she could take a picture of it to immortalize it in the greatest museums of the world.

"I love it," Bea whispers, looking at Allie like she's just given her the moon.

 _I love …_

Allie nods, happy with herself. She'd had to do another woman's chores for a week at her shelter in exchange for this small piece of happiness, but it was worth it.

"Are you going to use it?" she wonders, hoping that Bea won't forget about it in two days.

Bea will never forget about it. Her passion for arts crashes back into her like it had been a crime for it to leave in the first place.

"Sit!" Bea suddenly orders, eyes full of dreams. "I'll be right back. Wait here."

She rushes to her bedroom, where she knows she's left a few things back when Franky was helping them with the move.

She runs through her accessories, her old paintbrushes and her broken pens, and she finds a small eraser. She tries to find another pencil, but she can't find it, and she's growing impatient by the minute. She gives up, and just races back to Allie, who hasn't had time to understand anything. She takes a chair from the kitchen and she places it in front of the couch, facing Allie.

She sits on the chair and swallows anxiously, opening the drawing book to the first page. She glances at Allie with hopeful eyes.

"Do you mind?" she asks shyly.

Allie blinks.

"Me?"

"I wouldn't want to draw anything else," Bea confesses, ready to start at any signal.

"I- I don't know what to do."

Bea looks at Allie like she's made of gold.

"Just be you," she directs like she doesn't want Allie to pretend to be anyone else.

The next hour flies like a blur as Allie sits before Bea's studying stare.

She traces Allie's eyes first. She tries to do justice to the specks of sapphire she sees in the depth of her irises. She tries to steal a part of Allie's perpetual childish spark to add to her sketch. She adds shadow where she thinks she sees the relics of Allie's past constantly haunting her eyes. She erases way too many times, until Allie rolls her eyes at her and Bea finally accepts that she cannot capture perfection on a single piece of paper.

She draws Allie's nose after. She tries to represent the way it crinkles when the blonde laughs too hard, or the way it flares when Allie's prone to anger. Every line is carefully planned, and every curve is precisely measure to create an authentic version of Allie.

She smiles when she captures Allie's grin on paper. It feels like an impossible task, like she has to knock on heaven's door herself to ask the gods to help her with this divine responsibility. She doesn't simply want to draw an unknown pair of lips. She wants Allie. Allie's happiness and Allie's sadness, all at once. She wants those lips to look as kissable as they are in reality, and as fragile as they sometimes appear to be.

She makes her hair flows around her head in a beautiful motion that barely does justice to the real thing. She recreates Allie's cheeks out of thin air and she adds a few details to make this portrait just like she wants it to be.

Soon enough, she has a printed image of Allie in front of her.

It will never a fair representation of the beauty she sees in front of her, but it's okay, because Allie is here to stay, and Bea dreams of a world where she'll cover the walls with pictures of them.

Allie doesn't say a word while Bea completes the portrait. She just watches Bea falls in love with art again, and she thinks she has never seen someone more gorgeous in her life.

Bea looks at the finished work for a long time before she allows herself to show it to Allie.

"It's not as beautiful as you are," she whispers as she gets up and hands her piece to Allie.

Allie's breath catches in her throat.

Is this really how Bea sees her?

Happy and sad all at once, like she's a fraud. A trace of a melancholy that serves as fuel for the fire burning in her eyes. A wicked smile on her lips. Proud and ashamed at the same time. Perfect, but flawed. Human, but immortal. Broken, but still unbreakable. Completely in love with the person she's looking at, and unable to hide it.

"You have no idea what you just gave me," Bea adds quietly. "It's more than I could have ever asked for. It's more than I deserve."

Is this really how Bea sees her?

A woman who just wants to be loved, who just wants to find a place to call home, who just wants to get her happy ending after everything she's been through. A warrior and a healer, and a small child, all stuck in a grown woman's body?

"Can I kiss you?" Allie murmurs, standing up to face Bea.

A small nod from Bea is all Allie needs and she leans closer, capturing Bea's lips with her own as she leaves the drawing on the nearest card box.

It starts slow, like it always does, like Allie is afraid Bea will break like porcelain in her arms, but it quickly deepens when Bea's fingers start running through Allie's hair and pull her closer. Their lips separate for half a second when they need oxygen, but as soon as their lungs are filled with air again, they reconnect, finding each other instantly, tongues gently fighting for dominance.

Kissing Allie is something Bea could do for the rest of her life. She thinks she feels Allie's body press harder against her, and she groans when she is pushed down on the couch harshly. If it had been anyone else, she would have stopped everything, but she feels safe with Allie, and really, she never wants this moment to stop.

She feels Allie straddling her and rolling her hips onto hers in a way that drives her insane, all while keeping their lips together. Bea thinks she might pass out from the rush of emotions she's feeling, until she feels Allie's hands circle her gently, keeping her safe from the storm of hormones in her brain.

She melts into Allie's touch and sinks in the couch, keeping Allie closer than they have ever been. The kiss slows, and their breaths mix together when they come up for air again. Allie places delicate small pecks on her lips, and Bea loves every single of one of them.

Bea opens her eyes only to find darkened blue ones looking right back at her, and before she realizes what is happening, Allie is kissing her again, starving for the way Bea tastes. Their chests press together and Allie slides one of her hand under Bea's shirt, and Bea shivers from anticipation when she feels Allie reach closer to her breasts.

She pants audibly when Allie's lips travel down her neck and suck on her pulse point, keeping Bea pinned on the couch. She bites her own lip when Allie's hand brushes the side of her breast over her bra. She buries her face into Allie's hair as the blonde keeps losing herself in the spur of the moment, keeps exploring the land she's given.

Bea thinks she's ready when Allie's hand crosses behind her bra, caressing her breast gently. She thinks she's ready when Allie keeps kissing her neck devilishly. She thinks she's ready when she feels her core aching and reacting to the way Allie ravages her with a delicacy that she isn't used to.

It's soft, and compassionate, and impossibly fragile.

A familiar kind of panic reaches her consciousness, and she breaks them apart, eyes filled with arousal and horror.

"Sorry," Allie breathes out heavily, immediately putting space between them. "I- I'm sorry."

"It's – it's fine," Bea stutters.

She doesn't want to stop either. Gosh, she wishes she could get a grip on herself and have Allie right here on that couch. She wishes she could do this, and love it, and not be afraid for once in her life.

She doesn't to go too fast because she's scared of what might happen, of what might change between the two of them, but what if she's never ready? What if Allie doesn't want to wait anymore?

What if they have sex and then… it isn't what Allie expects from her?

What if Allie doesn't want her anymore when she realizes that sex with her is - ?

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

"You don't have to," Bea says so quickly that she doesn't quite believe herself either.

Allie eyes her up and down, reading Bea's body language. The way her hands fiddle together. The way her eyes try to stay on Allie's, only to glance away at every stolen occasion. The way her lips are slightly parted, as if Bea wasn't sure whether she wanted to speak or remain quiet for the rest of her life. The way she shakes, even when she tries not to. The way she tries to convince Allie that she's fine when she's not really, authentically fine.

"You want your space."

Bea doesn't answer, torn between mixed ideas tearing her brain apart.

"I'll be right there if you need me," Allie smiles and kisses Bea's forehead in the softest way.

"Are you sure?"

Allie sits next to Bea and pulls her close in her arms.

"I'm more than sure."

Bea's trembling soul is still getting used to being treated with such patience, and it takes a few minutes before she can finally relax in Allie's arms.

* * *

She's been trying to fall asleep for half an hour before she hears a creak on the floor. She falls from the couch and quickly gets up, hyperaware of her surroundings. Years of living in the streets taught her how to wake up at the speed of light, and she's ready to fight whoever is trespassing. She looks around the living room, adrenaline being pumped in her veins.

It's Bea.

Bea is looking at her with amused eyes and a small teasing smirk.

"What?" Allie whispers, afraid that Bea somehow needs her help now. She's ready to kick anyone's ass, real or not. "What do you need?"

"Come sleep with me," Bea replies just as quietly.

Allie frowns. Even in the dark, she can see Bea's shaking arms.

"Are you sure?"

"I want to hold you."

"You do?" Allie asks again, hesitantly.

No one has ever said that before.

No one has ever asked to just _hold her_.

 _Holding her_ was never a part of her job, never a part of her life.

Sharing a bed with someone never meant _falling asleep while holding each other_.

But that's what Bea is asking from her, and Allie thinks this is the most beautiful request she's ever had.

"I want to – " Bea repeats gently.

Allie doesn't let her finish her sentence. She walks with Bea to the bedroom.

When they fall asleep, Allie thinks that no other person has ever cared for her the way Bea does.

* * *

When she receives the call in the middle of the night, she's forgotten about the time difference. She's forgotten that, on the other side of the world, it's the middle of the day and everyone is wide awake. Her blurry mind doesn't even let her remember that her daughter is living on the other side. Her first thought is that whoever's calling her must want to die for waking her up at this goddamn hour.

Her second thought is that it is a mistake. She thinks that whoever is calling her must be asking for a different Bea Smith, about a different Debbie Smith. She thinks that they're mistaking her for someone she's not, that surely, they'll apologize for making her heart stop the way it did when she heard the news.

But there's no apologies, and when she sits up in her bed, so fast that her vision turns dark for a few seconds, she realizes there's no manager to complain to about a terrible mistake made by a shitty employee. There's no Australian accent to reassure her that this is a bad prank made my reckless teenager.

Instead, there's just a voice, a cold and distant voice laced with pity, that tells her over and over how sorry they are, and how quickly she should come here because they don't think Debbie will make it through the night. They throw stupid fancy medical terms at her, tell her Debbie's in a medically induced coma, carve a new kind of pain on her skin, and the voice fades in the back of her head.

An overdose.

A stupid heroin overdose is stealing her daughter's life, and Bea can't move, can't cry, can't scream because she's miles away, and she's helpless, and for fuck's sake, this cannot be happening to her right now. Not her, not her beautiful daughter who used to be scared of vaccines for so many years that Bea had to promise her a lifetime of cotton candy when she was a kid.

She can only grip her phone so hard that she thinks she might break it into a million pieces. She wouldn't mind if it exploded right now in her hand. Maybe the burns could wake her up from this nightmare. Maybe the sharp pain would make her feel something else than this growing sorrow in the deepest parts of her body.

Maybe it'll be over when she opens her eyes.

She thinks she tears her vocal chords when she finally drops the phone and falls to the floor of her bedroom, screaming like someone's torturing her alive. Her agonizing chant echo on the walls, and she can barely hear the sound of Allie falling to the floor, startled by the sudden alarm.

When Allie gets up, alerted and ready to kill, all Bea sees is her shadow.

In the moment, in the panic and the terror, Bea thinks it can only belong to one person. This shadow must belong to a man, a well-known man, taller than she is, stronger than she is. A devil who has escaped hell. A devil she once lived with.

"Don't touch me!" she yells, higher than the skies above.

She yells because even though he doesn't listen, doesn't care about her most of the time, a rare once in a while, he lets her be, and she prays that today in one of those days.

She puts distance between them and she yells some more, and then she suddenly stops when she feels that the end of the world has passed.

She looks up and sees a silhouette with hair made with flecks of gold, and with eyes glittering with gut-wrenching worries.

She just _breaks_.

She thinks that there's nothing scarier than this moment, this raw moment when she doesn't know whether her daughter will make it our alive or not. It doesn't matter how many times she was sequestered in her room, how many times she starved herself or how many times she was nearly beaten to death, nothing had prepared her for this moment, for this paralyzing fear.

Her daughter isn't supposed to be a coma. It isn't the plan. It isn't how things should be. Her daughter should live a long and happy and successful life, and she should make meaningful memories with people that are going to share this same happiness. She isn't supposed to be stuck in an hospital, fighting for her life because of a vile injection.

Bea screams harder when she realizes that she can't go, that she can't run to hug her daughter and whisper in her ear that it'll be fine because her daughter is on another continent, and she has no money to fly there. She doesn't own a private plane or even a small boat to cross the ocean. The planet is conspiring against her and she's never despised this place more than she does right now.

And it's her fucking fault because she sent Debbie over there in the first place.

And she thinks that her messed up heart is betraying her because hours ago, she was having the time of her life, and now, she's in Dante's ninth circle of hell.

"BEA!"

Allie's shout is louder than the loudest sound, and Bea hates it. Hates how Allie always win, always brings her back to Earth. Hates how she can never stay friend with madness when Allie's around.

Drowning in madness is so much easier than facing reality, because reality is ruthless and cruel and all kinds of fucking terrifying.

"What's happening?" Allie asks, softer this time, kneeling next to Bea.

Bea doesn't answer.

There's an emptiness in her eyes that wasn't there a second ago, and Allie wants nothing more than to kiss this woman back to life.

But she recognizes this emotion. It isn't something that can be fix with a kiss, with a promise of love or with a magical contract from the skies.

"I need money," Bea croaks in a raspy voice.

She doesn't care how the money is obtained, or where it comes from, or what awful debt she'll face later, she just needs it.

She needs to fly away from here.

Bea refuses to close her eyes for as long as she can, afraid that the next time she opens them, it'll be to look at a world where her daughter doesn't exist anymore.

She finally passes out from exhaustion a couple hours ago, eyes red and cheeks tattooed with the traces of her tears.

* * *

Allie makes a phone call when Bea stops eventually stops moving in her sleep.

She hasn't asked Bea why she suddenly needed money. She hasn't forced the words out of Bea's mouth. She hasn't asked who this stranger on the phone was. She hasn't even touched Bea, because Bea's made it very clear that she couldn't deal with any physical contact right.

Bea hadn't said anything at all, and Allie had accepted it.

She'd simply watched with vigilant eyes as Bea had fallen on the bed again, exhausted from crying her body's weight in tears. She doesn't need to ask more from the redhead. She trusts Bea with her life, and if Bea says she needs money, then Allie will win steal the bank right here and right now.

She knows many people who would tell her that she's doing way too much for this woman, that her feelings are blinding her and making her do stupid, impulsive things, but it doesn't stop her. She cares about Bea, and she wants the best for her, and if the world wants to judge her for having feelings and helping her significant other, then it's not her problem.

She has no idea where to start, so she calls the only person she knows she can trust to listen.

"What the fuck?" a sleepy voice answers grumpily.

"Franky?"

"You better be dying."

Allie sighs and stays quiet, and the conversation grows colder. She hears the sound of bedsheets being moved around and she imagines Franky sitting up on the mattress. For half of a second, she thinks that Franky might hang up on her.

"You aren't dying, right?" Franky asks gently.

Allie almost says yes because the way it feels to see Bea so lost and desperate must be what it feels like to die. She must be dying with Bea.

"I need money. Not me, Bea does," Allie states, speaking as quietly as she can so she doesn't wake up her fallen angel.

She can almost hear the wheels turning in Franky's head.

"How much?" the brunette's voice resonates from afar.

"As much as you can loan us. I don't - I don't know the reason, but you should have seen her…" Allie swallows difficultly like her throat is full of stones. "You know I wouldn't asking if I had another choice."

She waits for an answer, keeping her eyes to Bea's figure. If she didn't know better, she'd think that Bea is having the most peaceful sleep of her life. But she knows, she knows that underneath those closed lids and soft exhales, there's a destructive pain waiting to make its appearance as soon as Bea emerges from the night.

"I don't have much, but I'll see what I can do," Franky sighs. "I'll call Maxie and Booms too. We all have some money saved up somewhere."

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can," Allie promises, determined to work harder to find a job as soon as the sun's up. She'll do any kind of shit job she can land if that is what she needs to do.

"It's fine," Franky chuckles on the phone. "Bea would do the same thing for me. I can wait for things to settle. You really don't know what's going on?"

Allie has an idea. Not many things make Bea react this way.

She glances at Bea, seeking the familiar way her chest grows as she breathes. She's afraid Bea might stop breathing right here and now.

"I didn't ask her," she says. "But it's not just a small problem this time, it's bigger, much bigger than I imagine. She was – she just fell apart in front of me. I couldn't recognize her for a moment. All she told me was that she needed money."

"And you just listened to her? What if she's deep involved in a drugs ring or an illegal market?" Franky chuckles, trying to make light of the heaviest situation while she remembers how much money she has put aside in her bank account the previous months.

"Then I'll get her out of there," Allie replies, voice strong and unwavering, not encouraging Franky's amused tone.

"What if she's paying a murderer to kill Harry?"

"I'm happy to help," Allie rolls her eyes, not having one ounce of compassion for the man.

"What if she's the murderer and she needs money to buy a gun?" Franky pushes further, half serious, half intrigued

"I'll kill so she doesn't have to," Allie shrugs, never looking away from Bea.

Right. So maybe, she _is_ blinded by her feelings.

So what?

"What if she ends up in jail?" Franky adds with a curious voice, dropping her act. There's a hunch she wants to confirm, and she'll drill Allie to get the answers.

"Then I'll get her out of there too," Allie fires back. "I'll dig a hole with a damn plastic spoon if I need to! I'll plan some epic gesture to get her out of there. I'll charm the guards or become governor, or steal a judge's place! I'll do anything for her."

She doesn't realize what she's said until the words are out, and she hears them out loud.

"You're in love with her."

It's not a question. It's a fact. Franky's words hit the target right in its middle, and Allie nods on the phone, forgetting that no one's there to look at her. But Franky, from her dark bedroom a few blocks away, sees her as if they were right next to each other.

"Your silence tells me everything," Franky says.

Allie still keeps her mouth shut. If anyone is going to hear those words from her, it's going to be Bea, and no one else.

"It's fine. You don't need my permission or anything," Franky says with irony. "I'll call the others and let you know what happens."

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_ , for looking after Red. She's lucky to have you."

Allie waits for the signal that Franky is no longer on the phone to exhale loudly.

She wishes there was more she could do.

Bea moves in her sleep and Allie rushes to her side, half-wishing she was a superhero and could teleport them wherever Bea needs to be.

* * *

Two days later, Franky, Maxine and Boomer arrives at Bea's apartment, unannounced.

Bea is screaming on the phone and Allie is frantically trying to calm her down, but nothing works. The nurse on the phone is stumbling on her words, trying to reassure Bea that the fact that her daughter still hasn't woken up doesn't mean she never will.

It takes a full hour of screaming before Franky can finally throw the stack of bills at Bea. She shrugs when Bea's eyes grow the size of plates and assures her that it's no big deal, that she can pay them back when she can.

It takes another hour for Bea to confess to her friends what has happened and why she needs the money so badly. They listen, and Bea cries, and by the end of the conversation, everyone's emotions mix together to create a beautiful mess.

It still takes a few minutes for Bea to accept the money, guilt eating her alive and love flooding around her. It's enough for her to buy a ticket back and forth, but it isn't enough for Allie to come with her. She doesn't mention it, afraid she'll sound ungrateful, but she wonders what a few days spent away from the blonde will be like. She can't remember her life before Allie.

It takes a few seconds only for her to call a few flights companies and buy a place on the next flight heading for the foreign country. It leaves in five hours, and she thinks she might die of a heart attack before she even reaches the plane.

It takes her forever to say goodbye to her friends, but when they finally leave, Allie is still there by her side to help her pack a few things. Bea doesn't even need to open her mouth to ask, Allie reads her mind.

"I'll wait for you to come back."

Bea nods and thinks of something.

She doesn't ask.

They pack in silence, trying to delay the departure without wasting too much time.

It's only a few minutes later, right before they leave Bea's apartment to go to the airport that Bea breaks down and finally asks Allie the one question that has been haunting her for the past hours.

"Did she suffer?" Bea asks like she's terrified to know the answer. She doesn't know what she'll do if she learns that Debbie suffered. She thinks she might die right now on the spot before she ever leaves her home. She thinks she might not survive the truth.

Allie shakes her head negatively. Exhaustion is invading her body and she tries to walk a straight line to the taxi.

"It doesn't hurt," she quietly replies, covering Bea with a blanket of reassurance. "It feels like you're in heaven."

She pauses for a second, letting the words find a home in Bea's heart before she continues.

"She probably didn't realize that she was dying until they revived her," she breathes out in the empty air. "When it happened to me, it felt like I was falling asleep and I – I forgot to breathe and my heart forgot to beat, and I never realized it until someone told me that I was at the hospital."

Bea lets out a strangled sob that disappears in the few centimeters that separate her from Allie.

"She'll be fine," Allie finishes with a strong voice. "You can't give up on her."

"I thought it was enough," Bea aches everywhere and she doesn't know how to make it stop. "I thought I was enough. Me, and the love I had for her. I thought it would be enough to stop her, to keep her away from this shit!"

"Bea…"

But Bea isn't listening anymore.

Why isn't love enough?

Why is it not enough to cure, to heal, to save a life when it matters most? Why can't it stop her from falling apart? Why can't it erase the past? Why can't it fix her, and Allie, and everyone she cares about? Why can't it remove the hurt in Debbie's head?

Why the fuck is it not enough when it is supposed to be this magical, most powerful thing in the world?

The pressure is growing in her heart, and she doesn't think it'll hold for long before it explodes and splatters itself on the walls around her. The pain is stabbing her in the head and the sadness is overwhelming, forcing her to bury her head in the palms of her hands. She struggles to breathe and every gush of air that enters her lungs feels like vitriol burning her insides.

She fights to keep the tears in, but she can't, and they escape, and roll on her cheeks with more freedom than she thinks she'll ever have. She's chained to the ground and every step she takes asks a tremendous effort of her, and gravity is trying to crush her to dust.

The past is yelling at her that she didn't listen to the blaring alarms.

The present is laughing at her brokenness.

The future is staring at her with emotionless eyes.

"She can't die," she murmurs when Allie wraps the warmest arms around her body. "She just can't."

The weight of her regrets keeps her down.

"Don't take anything when I'm not there," she suddenly says, nails digging into Allie's arms a bit too hard. "Promise me."

"Bea, you know I won't do that," Allie answers in confusion. "I'll never do that. I'll call you every day."

"Say the words!" Bea nearly shouts. "Promise! Promise me or I'll - "

She lets out a frustrated scream as the words start disappearing from her mind.

She won't be able to leave if Allie doesn't make her that one promise.

She needs to hear those words more than anything else.

If doesn't hear those words, she'll spend everyday thinking that Allie will be waiting for her to come back from a hospital bed too. She can't live like this. She won't survive. She can't spend every minute of everyday worrying that Allie will relapse or that her daughter will die from a drug overdose or that every moment of happiness will be followed by a time of pure destruction.

Sometimes, she really fucking hates her life.

All she needs to do is trust Allie, so why can't she do it? After everything they've been through, after everything they've shared, why can't she trust her fully even now?

She _knows_ that Allie won't take this shit anymore, so why does she need her to promise her so badly?

Bea thinks her brain must be broken.

"I promise you I will never take another drug again," Allie replies slowly, detaching every word carefully so Bea knows how much she means it.

Bea searches in Allie's eyes for a sign that those words are just an illusion.

She nearly collapses again when Allie doesn't blink, doesn't flinch, just lets her search relentlessly until she's satisfied.

"Thank you."

Bea licks her lips, suddenly feeling ashamed of herself.

"I – I know you're not using anymore. I'm sorry," she breathes out, feeling like everything she does is making things worse. The last thing she needs to do is to accuse Allie again, to make it personal when it's not. "I don't know why I needed you to say that."

"You're scared," Allie gently replies as Bea leans her head on her shoulder. "And it's okay."

They stare at the road stretching forward as the taxi drives them to the airport.

When they go their separate ways at the airport, Bea holds Allie like she's afraid she's never going to see her again.

"I need you to know that..." Bea bites her lips nervously. "I'm so _so_ grateful that you're alive."

Allie thinks those words carry the elixir of life itself.

"You'll come back," Allie promises. "And I'll be there."

She pauses and whispers in Bea's ear.

"I want you to hold me again. I want us to fall asleep together again. I love it."

 _I love you._

Bea nods once, holding back her tears.

"I love it too."

 _I love you too._

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for sharing this story and hopefully I'll post next chapter soon enough!**


	13. Don't tell me if I'm dying

**This chapter is sort of a mess.**

 **Chapter's title is from "Angels on the moon" by Thriving Ivory.**

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Don't tell me if I'm dying**

Allie waits until she thinks she sees Bea's plane fly over her head to leave the airport. She lets out a heavy sigh and closes her eyes on the way back, letting the taxi driver brings her back to her now empty home.

It feels strange, to have experienced so much joy, and a few hours later, to have it all gone. She's starting to believe it was all a dream. There was no Bea lying next to her and holding her like the most previous thing in the world. There was no fluttering from her heart, and no warm breath ticking her skin. There was no childish-like snuggles under the eye of the ever-watching moon.

Shit, she thinks. It's been less than half an hour and she's already missing a piece of herself to the point that she doesn't think she'll ever be complete again.

When did this happen? When did she give Bea so much power over her, so much access to her heart? When did Bea even accept? Things are flying by and she can barely register them in her memory before they are replaced by others.

She feels like she needs to cry to release all the emotions that are fighting for her attention in her brain, but her eyes are dry, and she knows tears aren't something she can summon. She watches the road stretching around her.

Somewhere, somehow, one of these roads leads to happiness, to a life free of worries. She'd give everything she has just for someone, anyone, to point her in the right direction.

She pays the taxi with a morose face and she looks up at the door to the building. She doesn't want to go in, not when Bea isn't anywhere close to coming back with her. It'll feel colder there without her, emptier, duller. It won't be home. It'll be an apartment. A shelter against the outside world. But it won't be home without Bea.

She walks away. She can come back later, when her heart doesn't feel like it's going to start rotting the moment she crosses the door to the inside of the apartment.

She walks away, heading toward streets she doesn't know much, trusting her feet to guide her wherever she needs to be at this time of the day.

She walks away, thinking she'll come back just the same, a little broken, a little flawed, a little hopeful. She'll get food, she'll read a book, she'll work on her resumé, she'll do research, so she doesn't stay jobless. She has no idea where she wants to work, no clue at all. The only work she knows is how to fool people and sell her body. She doubts it'll be a benefit for any of these normal job offers.

Maybe being away from Bea can help after all. She won't be so distracted by Bea's presence and she'll finally focus on herself for a change. She'll be able to find a job and surprise Bea when she gets back. They'll laugh, and they'll celebrate, and they'll fall asleep together, and everything will be right with the world again.

Maybe being away from Bea will teach her how to _function_ without Bea, rather than being this mess she isn't sure she recognizes.

Maybe not.

She trips on a small torn hat filled with coins and nearly kiss the floor.

"Shit!' she blurts out, struggling to stay balanced. "I'm so sorry!"

She looks at the scene. Coins are scattered on the ground. There's not many of them, and the hat can barely be called a hat anymore, because it's dirtier than dirt. A teenager is frowning at her with fire burning in her green eyes.

"What the fuck!" the stranger replies with a voice laced with a kind of anger Allie recognizes.

A biting anger that only comes from the throat of someone who has seen too much, who has suffered too deep, who has learned that trust is a weakness. A vile anger that hides insecurities and fear and a kind of sadness not everyone is familiar with. A poisonous anger that is meant to keep people away despite a crying need for help and support.

A defensive mechanism that works a little too well when it shouldn't.

Allie knows it because she's lived with that anger for years of her life. She knows how ravaging it is, and how lonely it becomes.

"Sorry, here, let me help," Allie offers, leaning to put some of the coins back in the hat.

"Piss off, I won't have you steal my money!" the teenager shouts in return, throwing herself at the coins, frantically trying to get all of them. "Piss of!" she repeats, furious at Allie's presence.

Allie stands back, mildly offended, but mostly sad at the state in which this person is. The girl is thin, emaciated even, and she looks paler than a ghost. She wears dirty clothes that don't look like clothes anymore and she has scratches all over her face, like she's been in a fight recently.

"Do you need anything?" she asks with a small voice filled with concern.

"I need you to fucking leave me alone," the girl mutters. "Fuck off."

She leans back against the hard brick wall and lowers her head. She doesn't look up, and for a moment, everything exists as if Allie had never accidently tripped on that hat.

Allie knows too well that posture. She's been in this posture for years in her life, looking at the sidewalk, trying to pretend like the looks of disgust thrown at her didn't exist, hoping that a kind soul would throw a few coins for her. Waiting, and hoping, and having this hope broken at the end of everyday when she'd count the pieces and realize it wasn't nearly enough for a warm meal.

She sits next to the stranger, careful to put enough space between them so that she doesn't overwhelm her. She offers the girl a small smile that is left unreturned, but Allie knows she caught her attention.

"Want to talk?" she asks after a few seconds of careful silence.

She doesn't know why she's acting like that. She's never stopped before when she saw people asking for money or when she saw men and women homeless in the middle of the streets. She's never bothered to stop and ask.

But there's something about this teenager that reminds her of herself.

Young. Scarred. Battered. Scared even if she tries so hard to hide it.

And if she tries anything on Allie, Allie can outrun her, can fight her, can take this small girl because that what she is, a _child_ , and Allie is taller and stronger here.

The feeling of possibly saving a life controls her. It always has. Helping others, making their safety her priority, it's part of who she is. It's a quality and a flaw at the same time.

"What's your name?" Allie asks, trying to sound as casual as she possibly can.

Names have power in the streets, Allie is well aware of that. Telling someone her name meant that she would be recognized from now on, that she would be remembered if she owed something or if she bought something. It meant she was no longer protected by the shield of anonymity.

"Why do you care?" a small voice replies after a minute.

The answers appear in Allie's soul, flashing in bright lights.

The only reality she knows better than any other is life in the streets.

The only truth she knows is how to survive in this place, how to thrive and get out, and how to kick every obstacle out of her way.

"Because," Allie licks her lips and exhales deeply, "I was in your situation before and I remember wishing someone would stop and talk to me."

The teenager's eyes are still narrowed at her, judging why someone who looks like Allie, like they have food in their stomach and a warm shower at night, would stop for her.

"I don't want to talk," she spits back, shrugging like Allie is nothing but a mosquito bothering her quiet existence.

"Good," Allie smiles back in her innocent way. "Then you won't mind if I just sit there in silence."

She thinks she sees a vague shadow of a smile on the teenager's face.

It doesn't feel like much, but she thinks she's found something.

She leaves an hour later. She spent the whole time sitting silently next to the stranger, but when she got up, she knew it had been enough when she'd been asked with a hesitant voice if she'd be back eventually.

Yes.

She will be back.

* * *

" _Mom?"_

 _Silence answers the small girl's interrogative tone._

" _Mom!"_

 _Bea hums absently, her eyes focused on the page of the book she's reading._

" _MOM."_

 _Bea lets out an amused laugh and looks down at her four years old daughter._

" _What?"_

 _Debbie looks back at her mother with the most serious eyes._

" _Does it hurt the sky when planes fly through it?"_

* * *

The second the plane leaves the ground, Bea zones out.

She doesn't hear the safety guidelines. She doesn't hear the flight attendants asking her if she wants something to eat or something to drink. She doesn't hear the deafening mechanical sounds of the plane that tells her she's high above the clouds.

She doesn't see the screen in front of her, telling her how many hours she'll be stuck in this place with hundreds of strangers. She doesn't see the map, tracing the itinerary they have ahead of them. She doesn't see the movies, the tv shows, and even the music that are offered to her to pass the time.

The sky is beautiful, shining with different shades of blue. The sun is like a golden pendant hanging from the universe's chain. The clouds are marshmallows, fluffy and white, and light in the invisible air. Once in a while, they part to let the travellers see the ocean under, its azure lines following the directions of the diverse currents.

She doesn't notice any of it. She's grey, gone in her own colorless reality.

Up in the air, she doesn't belong anywhere. She's not home, but she's not quite somewhere else either. She doesn't recognize anything, and should this plane crash, she wouldn't know how to survive in the wilderness. Yet, she doesn't feel scared. She doesn't feel nervous. She doesn't even feel excited to be flying.

She doesn't feel anything, and somehow, that's the worst possibility of them all.

No emotions at all, no anger, no sadness, no feeling of betrayal, just emptiness.

Is she still human or is she an imposter pretending to belong?

And if the plane crashes and bursts into flames, is she going to feel the pain, the burns, the way her skin would melt from her bones?

The plane's speed is too fast. It brings her farther and farther from Allie, and Bea feels pieces of her heart being scattered around the sky and falling down in the ocean. She watches them drown silently, eyes peeking out the window. She wishes she could open the door and jumps after them. Maybe she'd catch them in time so she'd feel whole before she crashes on the hard surface of the sea.

The plane's speed is too slow. It feels like it will never reach Debbie, and Bea hears pieces of her heart chanting her name in the horizon, in the foreign land. She thinks she won't get there on time, that they'll be gone by the time she lands. She wishes she could teleport directly next to her daughter, whose life she failed to protect. Maybe she'd heal a little before she lets Debbie destroy her completely.

She left half of her heart back home, and she hasn't reached the other half yet.

She wants to cry, but there's no tears left in her eyes. She wants to scream, but her lips are glued together. She wants to make the voices in her head stop, but they're slowly killing her. She wants to get rid of this weight crushing her chest, but it only grows heavier instead.

She wishes she could turn back time and pretend all of this will never happen.

She wishes she could stop time and pretend like none of this is happening.

* * *

" _Mom?"_

 _The floor creaks and interrupts the night's mute orchestra._

" _What's that?"_

 _The smallest hand brushes Bea's forehead._

" _Why are you bleeding?"_

 _A frown. A sigh. A whisper._

" _Should we go to the hospital?"_

 _A trembling statement whispered in the dark._

" _I'm okay, Deb. Everything is okay."_

* * *

Her number one rule used to be to avoid hospitals at all cost.

Hospitals were traps in disguise. If she'd gone there before, bleeding and pretending to have fallen when it was plain obvious that someone had beaten the life out of her, she'd never had left without the police following her every move. She could have lost custody, lost her daughter, her house, her everything.

But now, a hospital is the only thing standing between her daughter's life and the fatality of death.

She swallows her hesitation away and walks inside. Her breath catches in her throat and she finds herself sitting on the first chair she can find, dialing a number as fast as she can. She waits impatiently, her foot bouncing on the floor while she clutches the phone in her hand. It takes forever and she wonders if she's got the wrong number.

She thinks she can see the lines between life and death blur even more.

Life and death cohabit in a strange balance in hospitals. They are neither friends nor enemies, they are neither at war nor at peace, and they are neither good nor bad. They just exist together, sometimes stealing something from one another, sometimes letting things be. They cannot exist without the other, and they are both aware of that important fact.

Life thrives in every darkened corner, even when hope is playing hide and seek for a little too long. It colors someone's first breath and dances with the lights in one's eyes. It breathes joy in every person's lungs, and it draws smiles on every person's lips. It pulls laughs out of a lucky person's throat and tears out of an unfortunate's eyes.

It survives in every single person who heals and gets to go back home to their family.

It is rich, proud and impossibly stubborn.

Death creeps around every soul that dares enter this place. It doesn't matter whether that soul belongs to a visitor or a resident, death wants it. It steals hope from everyone's arms, and replaces it with despair. It celebrates at the sight of a cadaver. It breaks a person's voice and shatters a person's will to fight. It feasts on someone's pain.

It stares stoically at every broken soul imprisoned within these walls.

It is cruel and grimly inevitable.

"Bea."

When Allie answers, her voice is so clear that Bea thinks the blonde is standing right next to her.

"Are you okay?"

Bea bites her lower lip until she tastes blood.

"I don't know. I'm at the hospital. I- I thought I'd be ready. I came all this way and I- I can't walk in her room. My little girl is somewhere in here and I can't walk in, and she's waiting for me," she stammers, trying desperately not to let panic overcome her.

She wishes Allie was there to ground her, to hold her hand and tell her that everything will be fine because she refuses to be in one those shows where the protagonist's child dies and everything goes to hell from there. She refuses to be that person that loses a child because how could she ever survive this?

"Breathe," Allie's calm voice reminds her. "You're safe."

Bea inhales deeply. Even the air tastes like death. It sickens her and she wants to throw up, but what if it's her heart that comes out?

"How are you?" she asks, hoping to be distracted enough.

"I miss you," Allie breathes heavily, like her source of oxygen has gone too far from her and she can barely survive.

It's only now that Bea realizes the way Allie's voice sounds. Exhausted, tired, and enveloped in sleep.

"What time is it?"

Of course, she should have known. She's just spent hours stuck in a plane.

She glances at the clock on the wall and tries to calculate mentally, but she's never been that good at maths and her mind is already all over the place. Guilt stomps over her and she wishes she could hang up without alerting Allie.

"It doesn't matter, Bea."

It matters. It matters so much that Bea frowns and shakes her head, even if Allie can't see her.

"What time?"

Allie sighs in the distance.

"Three in the morning."

Fucking time difference.

Time doesn't care that she misses Allie or that she needs Allie. Time just goes on, moves on, lets her disturbs Allie's sleep without a single care in the world.

"I'm so sorry," Bea starts. "I – "

"Don't you dare," Allie cuts sharply. "We've spent days talking together at five in the morning. Sleep can wait."

Bea is about to accept Allie's answer when the blonde lets out a loud yawn.

"You're a terrible liar," Bea sighs. "I'm hanging up."

"And you suck at asking for help, but here we are! You can call me anytime, you know that," Allie insists, cursing her body's awful timing. "I didn't get this phone for no reason. In fact, I demand that you call me in the middle of the night. I'm alone and this apartment is too empty without you. Understand?"

"Are you giving me orders?" Bea deadpans.

"Are you telling me you don't want to talk to me?" Allie gasps exuberantly, breaking the tension.

"Yeah, you know, blondes aren't my type," Bea smirks, momentarily forgetting where she is.

Allie is her type, but Bea doesn't specify that.

"Bea Smith, I've seen the way you look at me!" Allie warns playfully.

"It's your rapper charm that got me."

"DJ Allie Cat steals every women's heart," Allie shoots back, ending her statement with a suspicious beatbox performance.

"Who are the others?" Bea growls menacingly.

It may be a joke, but Bea finds herself being jealous of her hypothetical rivals.

It's so stupid that she rolls her eyes. She never thought of herself as the jealous type.

"There's you, Bea. And there's this mother whose daughter is named Debbie. And this friend Franky calls 'Red'. And this girl who doesn't know the difference between green and teal. Oh, and I almost forgot, this woman who gave me a chance when I was at rock bottom."

Bea laughs heartfully and imagines Allie sitting up in _their_ bed, face illuminated by the moonlight and arms waving around while she talks. She leans more comfortably on her chair and takes a deep breath. This time, her chest rises without the familiar ache and she's certain there's blood flowing again in her body, coloring her back to life.

She listens to Allie babbling about the last few hours, how they felt like they would never end and how the blonde could not stop worrying about Bea's whereabouts.

"Thank you for answering," she says at some point, interrupting Allie's story about how she forgot to close a window and thought someone was already trying to rob them.

She thinks she can hear Allie smiles brightly from oversea, and she has no doubt that the moon must be jealous.

"I'd answer you no matter what."

It's a quick, short statement that makes Bea's heart skip a few beats.

"I don't think I can do this," Bea says after a few minutes of silence. "I don't think I can walk in her room and see her like this."

She's not supposed to be here. She's supposed to be in her bed, sleeping, and in the best-case scenario, Allie would be right next to her, snuggling into her arms. She's supposed to be dreaming of anything, rather than being stuck in this nightmare, a nightmare that's just too real, too constricting and too painful.

She's not supposed to be on her way to see her daughter at the hospital. Her daughter isn't supposed to be in the hospital in the first place. Her daughter is supposed to be in class, or wherever it is she'd be on a Tuesday's afternoon.

"I don't know what to expect," Bea continues, knowing Allie is listening closely. "I've spent my life keeping her away from places like this. Every wound I ever had, they were mine. They weren't the doctors' to care for. I hid in the bathroom for weeks, healing myself. And now she's… there. All alone."

"She has you," Allie reminds her gently. "You're still there. You flew to her."

"Yeah," Bea replies sourly. "I jumped on a plane for her, but I can't cross a damn door."

A single door is standing between her and her daughter.

A single door is stopping her from being the mother she needs to be.

"I don't think it matters," Allie answers. "There may be a door between you and Debbie, but I think you've already crossed it."

Bea's body might be stuck on the other side, but Bea's soul is right by Debbie's side.

"What if I can never open that door? What am I doing here? I wasted everyone's time and money!"

"Bea, you're already inside that room," Allie repeats more convincingly. "I think you're just afraid."

Bea scoffs.

Of course, she's afraid, her only child overdosed on heroin.

Being afraid is an understatement. She's terrified. She's so scared that she feels like a three years old hiding under her covers from whatever monster is hiding in her closet. Except there's nowhere to hide this time.

If she opens this door, she'll be by her daughter's side. She'll be able to hold her hand, and whisper soothing words in her ear, and just _be there_. She'll tell her that everything will be fine and that she has nothing to be afraid of. She'll make the apologies rain on her daughter's head.

But if she opens this door, she'll see the machines, she'll hear the mechanical beeps, and everything will suddenly be _too_ real to deny. She'll be stepping a little too close to death and all its friends, and she'll end up paralyzed, unable to get a single word out of her mouth.

As long as she stays here, on this side, she can hope that maybe, just maybe, the doctors got it wrong, and that it isn't her daughter on the other side. Maybe, just maybe, this is just the worst misunderstanding in the history of misunderstandings.

As long as she stays here, on this side, she won't see the machines, she won't hear the beeps, she won't need to face reality and the fact that her daughter is dying, _really_ _dying_ , on that bed.

The fact that her daughter might already be dead.

"You're afraid that when you walk in, Debbie will be dead," Allie declares, harsh with words that Bea needs to hear. "I know that feeling. I've lost people, friends, and it's never easy."

Bea wants to run away when Allie says the words.

She wants to run away and somehow ends up in Allie's arms.

"When you cross that door, you won't just see that she's dying," Allie softly says. "You'll see that she's unconscious, but not gone, that she's pale, but not too pale, and that she's fighting for her life. You'll see her chest rising, and you'll hear her heart beating, and you'll notice that death isn't here with her in that room."

Bea thinks Allie's words are beautiful, and she hopes that this prophecy comes true.

"You'll see all the ways that make Debbie still alive."

If she could worship letters and syllables, these are the ones she'd bow down to.

Without thinking further about it, she pushes the door open in a quick movement and walks in. The door closes behind her and it feels like it locks her inside the room. She knows, right this moment, that she's gone too far, that she'll never want to leave this room until she knows Debbie is safe and healthy, and awake.

"What do you see?" Allie asks, hearing the way Bea's breath itches and stops momentarily.

It takes a while for Bea to answer.

She sees a tube, too many needles, and a tremendous number of transparent bags emptying their contents in Debbie's veins. She sees a screen with numbers and lines, and stats that she can't understand. She sees a bed that's too big for Debbie's emaciated body. She sees the bruise on her arm and the exhaustion on every inch of exposed skin. She sees a little girl that looks nothing like the one she saw a few days ago on the pictures on the internet.

And she sees _her._

"My beautiful little girl," Bea answers.

A minute later, she's not on the phone anymore, and both of her hands and holding Debbie's tightly. She presses a soft kiss to Debbie's cheek and wishes she could give her life to save her daughter's. She'd do anything just to feel Debbie's hands squeeze hers back. She shakes her head angrily when they just remain soft, warm, but inescapably immobile.

Why aren't they squeezing hers back?

An hour later, she's crying silently by Debbie's side. Debbie used to always feel her presence in the morning, waking up right before Bea could even shake her out of bed. She used to smile and start the day with a war cry of happiness before Bea could even process that it was time to get out of the house.

Where is that shake, and that smile, that war cry that Bea misses so much?

A day later, she's fallen asleep on the chair next to the bed. Her back aches and her body feels sore everywhere, but she thinks it's nothing compared to what Debbie must be going through, and she refuses to leave the hospital. She stays by Debbie's side and drowns in sadness like a sinking ship inevitably crashing on the bottom of the ocean.

Why isn't Debbie waking up?

Three days later, she's still there, looking at her daughter's emotionless face. The only sound she hears are the steady beeps coming from the machine, the only proof she has that her daughter is still alive.

* * *

" _Mom?"_

 _Debbie tugs at her mother's shirt._

" _Come play with me!"_

 _Debbie throws a doll at her mother's face._

" _I'm busy, Debbie."_

 _She cuts a few more vegetables and looks at the clock on the wall._

" _You're always busy," Debbie's small voice complains._

 _Bea rolls her eyes. That is so not true, she played with her daughter an hour ago._

" _I'll play after dinner, okay? I have to finish this before your dad gets home."_

" _That's what you said last time!"_

 _But last time, she didn't finish dinner and Harry locked her inside her room._

" _I'll play this time, alright, love? I promise."_

 _She glances at the clock again. She really shouldn't make promises she can't keep._

* * *

"How's Debbie?"

Franky's familiar voice echoes in the hospital room.

Bea had put her phone on speaker in the hopes that Debbie would wake up, flinch, do anything at all, at the sound of a foreign voice, but nothing. No magic, no miracle, nothing.

It's been five days since she's arrived, and every day is longer than the precedent. She'd only left once, to take a shower and sleep a full night in the closest hotel she could find. She'd come back here as soon as the sun had risen in the horizon. She'd hoped to see her daughter awake, alerted by the way she'd slammed the door open, but Debbie had remained just the same.

Five days.

She can't remember what date today is. She can't remember if it is the morning or the afternoon. She just waits by her daughter's side, hoping that when Debbie wakes up, she'll bring the morning with her, and the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and everything she stole when she fell asleep. When Debbie wakes up, Bea is hoping that their entire universe will go back to the way it was just before her daughter took that fatal shot.

"She's still sleeping," Bea pronounces difficultly, choosing her words carefully because words have power and she doesn't want to awaken them.

"Is there anything you can do?"

"The doctor said…"

What did the doctor say? She can't even remember that. It's like her brain has been filtering information and nothing matters, nothing but the sight of her daughter still unconscious and plugged to too many devices. All the medical vocabulary just stops by in her brain before it leaves as fast as it arrives.

Did he say that she should just wait? Did he ask her to shake her daughter as hard she could? Did he say she might need to wait a lifetime before she talks to her daughter again? Did he tell her to prepare herself in case Debbie never wakes up? She can't remember, and all those possibilities hurt her soul.

"I don't remember."

"And how are you?" Franky's compassionate voice asks. "Do you need anything? I may be far but I can still fight someone for ya!"

Bea shakes her head slowly. She'd love to be able to shoot a joke back to Franky, to laugh and to smile. She'd love to tell Franky that yes, sure, she has a blacklist of people she wishes she could eliminate. But lately, her smile is a bit duller, and her laughs are a bit quieter, and her joy is fading behind walls of despair.

"I wish I was sleeping too," she whispers like she's afraid to speak too loud.

She wants to fall asleep and be woken up only by her daughter.

"That bad, eh?"

Worse, Bea thinks, but she doesn't mention it.

"Where's Allie? Is she alright?" she asks instead. "She always calls me at that time."

Franky snort from the other side of the globe.

"Why, thanks, Red. I'm happy to hear you too! Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking," Franky replies ironically before adopting a more serious tone. "she asked me to call you today. She said she had somewhere to be, didn't say where exactly, but it sounded important."

"Is she okay?"

She's spoken to Allie everyday since she landed here, sometimes multiple times during a day. She wakes up in the morning, and calls Allie to wish her good night. She goes to sleep at night, and calls Allie to wish her good morning. It's routine, and familiar, and their conversations often stretch for hours until exhaustion hits one of them.

Sometimes, Bea manages to forget that they're so damn far away from one another.

But it's always temporary.

She always remembers, and she always aches deeper than the moment before.

"She told me to tell you to stop worrying about her and that she's doing good. She also said that you must believe me when I say that she's doing good or she'll be pissed," Franky answers, repeating words that were practically drilled into her brain by an insistent blonde.

"And you really don't know where she is?"

Franky laughs a little.

"She told me you'd ask. She said she's busy staying safe."

Bea nods and accepts the answer. The tiniest part of her fires the alarms, but she ignores it.

Allie told her she'd be safe. Therefore, Allie must be safe.

"Tell me about your day," she sighs, hoping it'll distract her enough from the demons in her head.

Franky doesn't disappoint and rather than telling Bea a quick boring recap of her day, she narrates a story that sounds like it came straight from a storybook.

"I woke up way too early for my own good!" she claims loudly, and Bea has no trouble imaging her friend pacing around her apartment. "My breakfast didn't magically appear in my bed, so that makes another disappointing morning. So I got up, walked a million kilometers to the kitchen, and I thought I was going to die from thirst before I reach it. I opened the magic freezing box, and there it was, cold water waiting for me along with food. And then I had to go to work. You know what, Red? It's really a shame that humans weren't born with the ability to teleport because I'd have saved an hour stuck in traffic. And it's shame that buses can't fly. I bet our ancestors are looking at us pretty sad with how far we've come."

"You're probably right," Bea chuckles lightly.

"I got to work, and the coffee machine made me a drink straight from heaven. Now, that's the kind of shit I need, you know? I did my things, filed some magical papers, freed some innocent clients, exploited the laws just like I know I can, and the day flew by. At some point, there was a bird who managed to be trapped in our office! I bet you that it's an alien in disguise. I went home after, and I called Allie because you made me promise I'd call her everyday to make sure she's alive. By the way, she's pissed about that, but she still answers, so I bet she likes me. Got some competition here, Red!"

Bea rolls her eyes silently.

"I told her to keep her ass alive because if she doesn't, then I'm the one in trouble," Franky continues with a lighter tone. "I had incredible food because I'm the chef here, and then I called Bridget and we had phone sex. Do you want the details?"

"Gross."

"Fine, we didn't actually have phone sex," Franky admits with an overly tragic voice. "It's a shame because you know, I got mad skills. Like, crazy, mad skills."

"Move on, please," Bea rolls her eyes at her friend's antics.

"But she's coming over here tonight, so it's about to go down… if you know what I mean."

"Really, Franky?"

"Fine, fine! We're going on a date," Franky says excitedly. "Don't you dare repeat that to anyone, Franky Doyle doesn't do dates."

Bea thinks she smiles at the mention of Franky going on a date, but she can't be sure.

"Where are you taking her?"

"What makes you think I'm the one taking her out?"

"Because Franky Doyle doesn't do dates, remember? Which is a complete lie and we both know it."

Franky huffs and puffs on the phone, and Bea has no trouble picturing her friend struggling to keep her player disguise on.

"I'm not telling you," Franky mumbles.

"How old are you?" Bea snickers.

She hears Franky mumbling more mystery words and moves on.

"Anything else?"

It takes a minute for Franky to answer and Bea wonders if the signal got lost.

"Not really."

"Don't lie to me."

She doesn't think she can handle any more secrets, any more lies.

"I spoke with Maxine today. She's at the hospital. She fainted today when she was taking a shower. She's getting the operation tomorrow."

Bea feels her heart stop. She'd been so focused on her daughter that she'd forgotten about Maxine. How could she forget? She wants to take her brain out of her skull and stab it repeatedly.

She wishes life could give her a break already because if it doesn't, she has no chance to see her future days.

"She is?"

She had no idea.

She should have known, that's what a good friend does, she thinks.

"She knows it's unexpected and she says that no one could predict it. She tells you not to feel guilty about it. And she knows her words won't have much effect on you, so she says that if you feel any sort of bad about this, she'll hunt Allie down after she's done with the surgery."

Bea nods. Maxine knows too well that Bea's only weaknesses at the moment are Allie and Debbie.

"She's going to be fine, right?" she asks with a shaky voice that she doesn't recognize.

"You know her, she'll fight harder than anyone else," Franky reassures her. "She'll make cancer her bitch."

Bea has no doubt that Maxine will not give up the fight so easily.

But still. It's cancer. It isn't a cold or a light fever. It's fucking cancer, with its big blows and its merciless punches, and its unfair advantage in this unwanted war.

There are some moments in life that cannot be predicted. There are some feelings that cannot be avoided. There are some tragedies that cannot be erased once they've been written by fate. There are some losses that'll hit harder than a nuclear apocalypse if they happen.

She struggles to remember her last conversation with Maxine. She remembers clearly Maxine's smile on the night of her

departure, but she can't recall Maxine's words. She had been too focused on Debbie to pay attention to anything else.

She thinks she remembers thinking that Maxine looked a little paler than usual, but she's not sure.

She didn't do anything, didn't say anything, didn't tell her she was going to miss her. She didn't ask for Maxine to stay safe, to rest well and to call her whenever she wanted. She didn't make sure that Maxine knew how much she was loved.

She curses the fact that she didn't do it and something inside of her rages silently.

People wait all the time because they're scared to say the words, scared of the reactions, scared to appear weak or vulnerable. They wait for so long because it is easier for them to remain silent than to be rejected. They wait because they think they're invincible and time will never run out.

But it's an illusion.

Time does run out.

"Tell Maxine I love her," she pleads.

There's a silence from the other side and Bea thinks that Franky is gone, until her friend's voice whispers.

"She knows, Bea."

She recognizes it as Franky's way to reassure her, to tell her not to have any regrets, but she brushes it off a quickly as she can.

"Tell her anyway!" she nearly shouts. "Tell her because I can't. Go see her and tell her, please," she finishes with a bit more control on the volume of her voice.

Tell her because it will too late if she waits.

"I will, I promise," Franky answers, sensing the despair in Bea's words.

There's more to it than a simple need to tell her that she loves her, and Bea knows it very well.

She's waited too long, all her life. She's spent her entire life waiting and regretting, and leaving things unsaid while the great clock of the universe kept ticking without a second glance. She keeps waiting, and waiting, and waiting until there's no time left, and she still doesn't move.

She waited too long to leave Harry. She waited too long to talk to Debbie. She waited too long to talk to Maxine. There are so many things she hasn't said to Allie, and so many secrets she still has to share with her, and now, she's at the hospital, losing Maxine, losing her daughter, and Allie is too far to hear whatever she needs to say.

She's still fucking waiting even now.

She hates that she's waited so long.

 _I'm your mother._

She doesn't want that to be the last words Debbie heard from her because it's not enough.

She doesn't want their last conversation to be a fight.

She doesn't want their last moments together to be spent in a hospital room.

She doesn't want their last memories to be anything short of beautifully extraordinary.

"Is there anything else you want me to tell her?"

"Tell her she needs to stay alive," Bea murmurs like anything else is futile.

It feels like she's talking to everyone she's ever cared about, not just Maxine, and Franky tells her that it's going to be alright, and Bea believes it a little.

She senses Franky's hesitation.

"What?" she asks.

"What do you want to tell Debbie?"

There's a pause and Bea feels like this loaded question will blow up in her face.

"It's not about what I want to tell her," Bea replies slowly. "It's about what I want for her. I don't want her to die in this place. I don't her life to end like that. What are people going to know her for if she dies today? Drug addiction? She's so much more than that."

And it's a shame, the greatest shame, that if Debbie leaves this world today, she'll be marked as another statistic, another victim, another junkie.

"Say it," Franky repeats. "Tell her those words you ache to say, before it's too late. You know, maybe she can hear you. Maybe she's listening. And even if she isn't, say it out loud. I'll listen for her. I know it's not the same, but I think… I think you need to say everything, Red. It's now or never."

Bea doesn't think about it twice. She feels the words wanting to pour out of her throat and she knows that Franky's right.

It's now or never.

Tomorrow, Debbie might truly never be able to hear her.

She leans closer to Debbie, staring helplessly at the tubes coming out of her daughter's body. Debbie looks like she's ten years younger, and Bea, with her tired eyes and lifeless features, feels like she's ten years older.

"You made a terrible mistake. It might cost you everything. This isn't who you are, I know so much."

She caresses Debbie's cheek gently, like she's afraid she might hurt her if she presses too hard. She leans to kiss her forehead, and underneath the smell of chemicals and medication, she thinks she recognizes the scent of Debbie's favorite shampoo floating around her.

"I'm sorry I made you grow up too fast."

All those times she told Debbie to pretend like the blows weren't happening. All those times she told Debbie to go hide in the closet and stay quiet. All those times she told Debbie to help her clean the house. All those times she told Debbie to help her with the food. All those times she told Debbie she couldn't be back home because she had to work a double shift. All those times she tried to make up to her with promises she never could keep.

All those times she robbed Debbie of her childhood.

"I'm sorry you saw everything you shouldn't have."

All those times she let Debbie see Harry's true nature. All the blows, the hits, the punches and the cuts. The times Debbie heard her muffled cries, her quiet sobs and her sudden screams. The times Debbie asked her why she was bleeding, why she was on the floor, why she couldn't get up. The times Debbie begged her to go to the police and she just ignored her.

"I'm sorry I didn't protect you harder."

She wishes she could have protected Debbie more from Harry, from Brayden, from the world, and mostly, from herself. From the doubts and the fear and the negativity that probably surrounded her ever since she was born.

She wishes she could have done more for Debbie, more to help her and support, and God knows, more to love her.

"I love her to the moon and back," she confesses to Franky. "Do you know why?"

Franky remains silent, sensing that a single sigh, a single breath could break the moment and steal it forever.

"Because that's where she always goes when she daydreams or when she used to play by herself. On the moon. Falling in love with the stars and refusing to come back to Earth. So I loved her to the moon and back because I could reach her and bring her back down… and this love, it'll bring her back again. It has to."

* * *

" _Mom?"_

" _What, love?"_

 _Debbie bites the inside of her cheek for a second before she asks her question._

" _What if I wake up one day and you're dead?"_

 _Bea turns to face her daughter, shocked with the rawness of these words._

" _It won't happen."_

 _She won't let it happen._

" _But what if?"_

 _Debbie stares at her mother like she isn't afraid of the possibility, and Bea's heart breaks a little._

" _Then, you go find someone to help. And you remember that I'll always be with you, no matter what."_

* * *

It's been a week since she's landed here and made the hospital her home. She's learned the best techniques to fall asleep on a hard chair, and the most efficient methods to stay asleep whenever the nurses or doctors came checking on her daughter in the middle of the night. She's tried every combination of hospital food she could think of, figuring out quickly which ones were the best, and which ones were insults to her stomach.

Allie has called her every single morning and night, except for three times.

The first time was when she had talked to Franky instead. The second and third times were unexpected, and Bea had worried until Allie had called her later than usual, apologizing for missing their usual time. She hadn't asked why, and Allie hadn't explained why, and they both had pretended that it was nothing important, preoccupied by other matters.

It never once crossed Bea's mind that Allie was spying on Harry again, taking advantage of the fact that Bea was safe in another country.

It never once crossed Bea's mind that Allie was spending quiet moments by a lost soul with a dirty hat and beautiful dreams.

Bea had just finished her morning call with Allie when she heard someone knocks on the door of Debbie's room. She frowns. No one ever knocked. The doctors just walked in, acting like they owned the place and knew better than anyone else. The nurses just poked their head through the entrance, quickly assessing whether Bea was awake or not, and then walked in as well.

She doesn't say anything and waits for the intruder to make its presence known.

It takes a minute before whoever is behind that door enters, and in that time, Bea has time to think of the worst cases scenarios. It's Harry and he's there to kill them both, wanting to assassinate the past and move on. It's Brayden and he's here to finish the job, to end her daughter's life once and for all. It's the doctor, telling her that they're done waiting and that the only thing left to do is to unplug everything.

"Bea?"

It's Will Jackson.

Bea sits a little straighter and while a part of her is surprised to see him, another part of her wonders why he's here, so far from Wentworth. She doesn't let her guard down as he grabs another chair and sits next to her.

He offers her a small, hesitant smile, and when it reaches his eyes, Bea lets relief flood her heart.

"Mr. Jackson, what are you doing here?" she asks in disbelief. She remembers their last conversation, the way he'd told her good luck as she'd crossed the door of the shelter for the very last time.

She knows he works on the mother-child relationship, and she knows he's responsible for all the activities at Wentworth. She knows, from what she's seen so far, that he's a good man, but she still didn't expect him to jump on a plane just for moral support.

It seems a bit too much.

"I know what you're thinking," he smiles amicably. "Why would I come so far just to help you out? I heard what happened with your daughter. I asked if it was appropriate for me to go, to give you support, and after many discussions, Wentworth's governor decided that I could go."

"But why?" Bea asks curiously.

There's nothing special about her and she hates it when people pity her. She doesn't want their pity and she doesn't want to be treated any differently. If this is what it is, if they think she can't handle being here on her own…

Then they might be right, and she tries not to show how good it feels to have a familiar face around.

"It's part of my job. If you'd gone to a hospital in the city, I would have visited you just the same. Even if you don't stay with us anymore, it's part of our follow-up once the women leave. We don't just let them go out there without support, not when we can do otherwise."

Bea frowns, still doubtful, but she says nothing. It's believable.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay quiet," Bea asks.

"No worries. If you want me to leave, just say the words."

She doesn't.

They sit in silence for a while, Bea focusing on Debbie, and Will Jackson mentally taking notes on Bea's general behavior. He's pleased to see that she doesn't look terrible for someone whose daughter is fighting for her life.

"What is it like to be a man in Wentworth?" Bea asks after a full hour.

She's always been surprised to see that he was even allowed to work there.

"It helps women see that there are more than just abusers in the world. I can't welcome anyone on their first time. They might be triggered by the sight of a man they don't know. And I can't do phone assessments because they might wonder why a man is doing the job and why a man is asking them about their abuse. However, once they come here and see me working, it all goes well."

Bea nods. It all makes sense. If Will had been the one to answer her that night, she might have walked away from that place. But today, she knows better. She knows that Will would never hurt anyone on purpose, would never be the same kind of person that Harry is.

"The children need to see too, that not every man is like their father."

Bea agrees quietly. She points at Debbie sadly.

"You didn't get to know her well," she laughs emptily. "I think it might have helped her, to have someone else talk to her."

"Maybe," he answers, "maybe not. Debbie made a choice. It isn't the one you wanted her to make, but it's what she chose. Hopefully, she'll remember the consequences if she ever has to face a similar situation again."

Bea shakes her head, anger rushing back to her.

"I'll stop her before she ever gets close to this situation again, trust me on that," she spits out.

Impulsively, she thinks that when Debbie wakes up, not _if,_ but _when_ , she is dragging her back to Australia where she'll protect her more fiercely than she ever has. Debbie might not like it, but at least, she'll be alive.

Will seems to guess her thoughts and sighs loudly, mildly amused.

"I've worked with kids long enough to know that if they want something, they'll do everything they can to get it. And what we think is right for them… they don't always see it that way."

"What do you do then? Hm? When your daughter might die, do you just let her be? Do you just let do what she wants because otherwise she might hate you? I'd rather have her alive than anything else," Bea argues strongly, her voice strong enough to move mountains.

Will shakes his head.

"I never said that. You're doing good, Bea, but sometimes, we can't predict their next moves. We can't protect them from everything. It's normal, for a girl her age, to act recklessly. It's normal for her to try things and fall in love with the wrong people. You have to teach her everything you know, and hope for the best."

"I tried and she didn't listen."

"You keep trying," Will replies. "You try until she listens. It might take… weeks, months, even years, but you don't give up on her. I know you won't."

When he looks at the woman in front of him, he has no doubt that she will do anything for her daughter. It breaks his heart a little, because he knows that sometimes, the ending is the same.

Bea seems to accept his answer and remains quiet, and he takes the lead for a second.

"When my wife died, I thought I would never survive," he confesses. "I thought my life was going to end, right then, at the same time she took her last breath."

Bea feels the same, like her life is hanging by a thread, and Debbie's death would cut that thread.

"I thought I would never be happy again. I got into pills and developed an addiction."

It's hard for Bea to believe it, now that she looks at the man sitting next to her.

He looks healthy, like he could crush an asteroid with his bare hands rather than use them to place pills delicately on his tongue.

"I lost everything. My wife, my job, my dignity. I couldn't see the end of this. But I did eventually."

He places his hand on Bea's shoulder. He lets her know that she's part of the same world as his.

A world where people live and die and are reborn everyday.

A world where people somehow manage to survive the worst every single day.

A world where the impossible come true, and where miracles happen when you least expect them.

A world where cruelty knows no bound, but so does Love.

So does Love.

"You'll survive too, if it comes to this, you just don't know it yet," he whispers.

The possibility that Debbie might not make it suddenly appear too real, like a premonitory dream.

The possibility that she might never talk to her daughter again comes crashing into her and Bea shakes under Will's steady hand.

"What do I do?" Bea asks painfully. "I don't even know if she'll make it through the next night."

She needs someone to tell her what to do.

She hates being ordered around, being forced to do something, but she's lost, and she needs someone to guide her, to tell her how to get out of this mess. She needs someone to tell her this pain is temporary, and she needs someone to show her the future, so she knows what to expect, so she can be prepared.

She needs someone to guide her because so far, she's emptied her suitcase on the floor, she's made a bed on the chair next to Debbie's bed, she's yelled at nurses and doctors, and earned a reputation of the worst family relative ever. It's a miracle she hasn't been banned from this hospital, and she's sure it's all because she's cried like a madwoman in the hallway more times than she can count.

"You're a mother. You know better than me what to do. But if you ask me, you're doing just fine right now, by being with her," he replies as honestly as he can.

She scoffs and stares out the window.

He's not wrong, she _is_ a mother.

She knew, when she learned that she was pregnant, that being a parent was the hardest job in the world.

She expected to change diapers at every hour of every day. She expected to calm tantrums and have her eardrums pierced by her daughter's high-pitched screams in the middle of the night. She expected to lack sleep and energy. She expected the tears, and the cries, and the laughs, and the terrible two. She expected the trillion of questions for which she had no answer to. She expected the billion of answers for questions she'd never asked in the first place.

She expected that she'd have to force her daughter to eat her vegetables or that she'd have to work double shifts to help pay for all the expenses. She expected that it would be hard to dress up her daughter when Debbie was tired and grumpy and didn't want to go outside. She expected to fight about ridiculous stupid things with her daughter. She expected to feel an overwhelming love whenever she simply glanced at her daughter.

She expected to feel like a failure whenever she couldn't protect her daughter. She expected the heartbreaking dilemmas and the soul-shattering issues. She expected the guilt and the shame, the loathe towards herself and the raging anger.

She even expected that she'd need to give her body and soul in order to protect Debbie from Harry's anger.

She expected to love her daughter unconditionally, no matter what.

She expected to care more about her daughter's life than her own.

But fuck.

Someone should have told her about this part.

About the part where she'd have so many crushing regrets that she wouldn't be able to stand on her own.

About the part where she'd make so many mistakes, so many important mistakes that she'd end up playing a role in her daughter's tragic tale.

About the part where she'd be in a hospital, watching her daughter being plugged to a bunch of machines in order to keep her breathing.

About the part where she'd be praying to a God she doesn't believe in that her daughter comes out of this place alive and well.

About the part where she'd be waiting for her daughter to wake up.

Wake up…

Wake up.

Wake up!

Being a parent means your children will outlive you. It means you won't have to go through the pain of watching them die. It means that when you leave, you'll tell them that everything will be alright because you raised them to be strong, and respectful, and resilient.

You'll tell them they have their whole life ahead of them to be happy again.

You'll tell them that they _will_ be happy again, even if they feel like they never will.

You'll prepare them, help them, and never leave them, even after death.

But there are nuclear families everywhere and Bea feels everything she's ever known is vanishing in the air.

Debbie isn't supposed to leave first.

"I think I'm dying with her," Bea admits quietly.

Will stares at her like he reads his mind and feels her feelings.

"Every day, it's like she's farther from life, and she's taking me with her," Bea continues. "And I wish… I wish I knew if it would end or not. I wish I knew if I need to prepare my own funeral or not."

Bea feels a knife stabbing her in the throat.

"Part of me wants someone to tell me if she's going to leave me or not, so that I can move on."

It hurts. It hurts a kind of pain that she can't even describe with words.

"If I know what will happen, I'll be able to prepare myself. And at the same time…"

She lets out a strangled sob that sounds like the cry of wounded animal.

"At the same time, not knowing is the only thing that helps me be hopeful."

* * *

" _Mom?"_

 _Bea holds Debbie's eyes with hers._

" _Are you going to leave dad soon?"_

 _Bea frowns, baffled that her twelve years old daughter is suggesting that._

 _This isn't supposed to be what twelve years old kids worry about, and she feels her stomach twitches rebelliously in her body._

 _If her little girl is asking her that, she must have really screwed up in her job as a mother._

" _Why are you asking?"_

 _Debbie looks away, like she's scared of Bea's reaction._

" _I want you to leave him," she confesses, releasing words that have been strangling her for too long already._

* * *

It's been nearly two weeks now and Bea was supposed to go back yesterday.

She was supposed to be back in the land of sunshine and deserts and oceans stretching far in the horizon wherever she was. She was supposed to go back to work, because it's a new job and she risks losing it with every passing day despite the deal she made with Doreen just a few hours before she left Australia.

 _Go to your daughter,_ she'd said, reassuring Bea in every way.

Except Bea is sure that Doreen didn't expect her to just disappear, fade into the wind for so much time. She has no idea what awaits her when she gets back there, and she curses her existence once again because she's managed to lose one of the rare good things in her life right now.

But there'll always be more jobs, she catches herself. There won't be another Debbie.

She was supposed to be back in her brand new apartment, with Allie. She was supposed to be helping Debbie up the stairs as they settled in, together at last, far from the danger lurking around them. But it's fine, they're safe, right here in this hospital.

She was supposed to be happier, but Debbie is still sleeping, so Bea had changed her flight back because there's nothing in the world that will make her move away from here.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Allie's gentle voice tells her. "I'll see you as soon as I can. We could always video call someday?"

"Yeah?" Bea asks, hopeful and destroyed at the same time, wishing she was many time zones away.

Two weeks is a long time to be away from home.

"Yeah! I'll ask Franky to set it up. She'll do it if I tell her I'm miserable and need Skype sex."

Bea rolls her eyes and lets her head lean against the wall.

"That's your reason?" she asks with an amused voice. She has no doubt that Franky will tease her for the rest of her life.

"What can I say, you make me a poet," Allie sings from the other side of the planet. "Sorry, it didn't rhyme."

Bea's laughs clear the room of its sorrowful atmosphere.

"You're a better rapper than a poet, that's for sure," she replies.

"I won a poetry contest once, excuse you," Allie protests proudly. "I wrote about the tree in my backyard and my teacher was very impressed. I was five and I was already better than most of my classmates."

An image of a young version of Allie pops in Bea's head and she feels her frozen heart melting for the first time in a while.

"So you're saying you lost your talent because of old age?" Bea grins wickedly.

She hears Allie gasps, mockingly offended, on the phone.

"Bea Smith, look outside."

Bea nods even though Allie can't see her. She keeps her eyes on the sky. The sun is rising slowly, which means it's disappearing from Allie's sky.

It's reassuring, knowing that despite the distance, they're living under the same familiar sights. It's reassuring, knowing that the sun is same one Allie saw, just hours ago. It's like there's a bit of the blonde coming to visit her everyday, and Allie must be thinking the same as she says her next words.

"I may be far, but I have a priceless skill. Every day, I'll send you the sun to protect you and Debbie from the dark. And every night, I'll send you the moon to guide you back into the daylight."

There's something about the way Allie says those words, with a specific rhythm and a well-calculated tone, that makes Bea believe that maybe, the blonde is still a poet is disguise. A very good disguise, granted, but not enough to hide Allie's lovesickness.

Bea smiles, but says nothing. A courageous butterfly flies across the ocean and finds its way inside Bea's stomach.

"I think I found something I want to do," Allie says.

"You did?" Bea asks, curious.

"Yeah, and I'm not sure I'll tell you until you come back," Allie teases.

"What, why?!"

"Because that'll force you to come back."

"You know I'll come back," Bea answers with a serious tone. "I will."

She feels the urge to reassure Allie again because the blonde has been through too many losses and Bea would hate for her to think that it's happening again.

"I'll come back, I always will," Bea promises.

She hears the soft, content sigh on the phone.

"I met someone," Allie confesses. "A girl."

Bea frowns.

"Should I be worried?" she asks with a joking tone that hides insecurities rooted in her core.

"Never," Allie laughs. "I meant, I met a teenager in the streets. She's clearly homeless. I've been talking to her a little every day. She doesn't reply to anything I say, but I know she hears me. And she… she reminds me of me. It makes me want to help her."

Bea hears the way Allie's voice is filled with worries and joy at the same time.

"That's amazing," Bea whistles. "So that's what you want to do? For a job?"

"Maybe," Allie says. "I'm just thinking that all those counsellors and street workers and professionals… they know things because they went to school and studied. But if they wave their fancy diplomas in front of people like her, people like _me_ … they don't stand a chance."

Bea waits as Allie gathers her thoughts. She can tell how important it is for Allie, how much this meeting means, just by the way the blonde expresses herself.

"They don't know the real side of it. They don't know the way it feels when you're waiting all day for someone to give you money. They don't know what it's like to spend every night outside, hoping that you'll wake up safely the next day. They don't know what it's like to be alone, completely alone with no one to trust. But I do. And I have this desire to help that I can't deny. And I want to try."

Bea grins so hard that she thinks her face will break.

"That's beautiful, Allie. I have no doubt you'd do a great job."

"I don't know if I'll make it a job, but for now, I'm glad to be able to just be there with that girl."

Allie yawns suddenly and Bea giggles.

"You're going to sleep now?" she asks.

"Maybe… and dreaming of you," Allie says.

Bea rolls her eyes, and she's so focused on the butterfly making damages all inside her body that she doesn't hear the slightest hesitation coming from Allie's voice, hinting her that maybe, there's more to it than a simple 'yes'.

She doesn't hear it, and Allie doesn't repeat, and they both forget about it, a few seconds later when they hang up, and when _good night_ and _good morning_ and many _I love you_ travel the distance.

On the other side of the world, Allie gets ready to go outside.

On this side of the world, Bea drinks her cup of tea and gets lost in her thoughts.

When her phone rings a minute later, she doesn't think twice before she answers, assuming that Allie has forgotten something.

"What the fuck have you done to my daughter? I have to hear from a stupid doctor that she's at the hospital? Why didn't you call me?!"

She sets her cup of tea on the table next to her, feeling adrenaline being fired into her blood vessels.

Harry might be far, but he sounds just like he is in front of her, waving his fist in her face. Of course, it was only a matter of time before he learned of Debbie's status. He is also paying for a part of Debbie's rent in this country.

And right now, he sounds angry, the type of anger that Bea used to run away from because she knew that he would lose control and try to murder her in the process.

The type of anger that is solely motivated by his love for his daughter.

Harry's love is destructive.

"What do you want?" Bea's voice is steady, and strangely calm despite the uncontrollable beating of her heart.

She wants this conversation to end as soon as possible, but she won't hang up now, because he would only call again and who knows what else.

"Debbie was fine when she left me," Harry roars on the phone. "Then the next thing I know, she overdosed? What did you tell her? What did you do to make her do this?"

A few months ago, Bea wouldn't have answered. She would have looked at her own actions, searching for the trigger for Debbie's behavior. She would have analyzed every last interaction she'd had with Debbie, seeing all the ways in which she would be to blame. She would have believed Harry, when he said it was her fault. She would have found the evidence, the proof to fit with Harry's statements.

She would have blamed herself, all the way.

But now, she knows better.

"What did _you_ tell her?!" She yells back. "You told her to go back there? You told her this love was great? You told her a couple drugs didn't hurt? What did you do?!"

Surely, he must have done something. He must be responsible.

He's responsible for all the shit in her life, and she knows, just _knows_ that he's responsible for this too.

"I tried to stop her. You didn't. Who's responsible now?" she lasses out. "You are, you're just - "

And then she stops, as abruptly as she started.

There's no point blaming each other. It's counterproductive, and it's only going to anger Harry more. It's only going to make her waste her energy on a futile mission. There's no way he'd get it.

"It's Brayden's fault. I tried to warn her. That's all I did," she says, strongly, but holding back the sobs that are hiding in her throat.

She will never be blamed for something she isn't responsible for again.

"When I'm done with you, I'm taking her away from you!" Harry shouts. "That's my girl too! You should have called me. You should have let me know!"

"You were too fucking blind to see what was happening in front of you," Bea argues, her voice more commanding than ever before. "It's not my fault you'd rather get drunk than care about your daughter. We'll see who the authorities will believe if you go to them, you, or me, who's at the hospital, actually being there for her."

She hears glass breaking on the phone, and she has no trouble imagining Harry throwing his beer bottle on the floor.

She's witnessed it many times in the past. He would grip his bottle so tightly that his hand would hurt, and then there'd be flames in his eyes as he'd slammed it on the counter or throw it violently on the wall.

Maybe he's bleeding.

She hopes he's bleeding.

She hopes he hurts, just as much as she does.

"I'm coming to see her," he says with an emotionless voice that betrays his fury.

"No, you're not!" Bea immediately answers. "You're not stepping one foot closer than you are already. If you do, I'll kill you."

She's stunned at the words coming out of her mouth, but she doesn't take them back. She doesn't want to take them back.

She thinks she hears him scream.

She thinks she hears him laugh.

She thinks she hears him cry.

She thinks she hears him completely lost, unsure what to do, how to process the news that his daughter is dying, and the only thing he can do is attack.

She thinks that for the first time, he sounds more like a human than a monster.

It lasts just a minute.

A minute of silence, during which both are humans, until one of them transforms to a beast again.

"You fucking bitch, wait until we're in the same room again and we'll see who'll come out of it alive!"

Maybe it's the fact that she won't back down this time, but she _hears_ the way Harry doesn't sound so sure anymore, as if he's becoming aware that he doesn't have control anymore.

That threat might have stopped her right away, weeks ago. It might have frozen her on the spot, and it might have killed any self-confidence left in her, but not anymore.

Now, it only makes her feel stronger, wiser, and overall a better person than Harry Smith. She would never step so low. She would never threaten another person like that. She would never encourage hatred.

Maybe now, she knows what she's worth and she finally believes it.

"Oh yeah?" she asks with a steel voice, laced with determination and resilience. "I'll be the one coming out of it alive. I have no doubt. Bring a gun. Bring a knife. Bring your words and all your stupid, reckless punches. Bring everything you have. I promise you, I will survive and thrive, and if you come anywhere near me or _my_ girl, you will rot in prison for the rest of your pathetic life."

"You won't go to the cops," Harry threatens, but it sounds weak, and unsure, and Bea knows he can't threaten her with anything anymore.

"I will. Watch me," she sounds like the Future, sharply unavoidable and mournfully poetic.

He yells something, but she hangs up before she can understand his words, heart beating fast and lungs struggling to keep up, but her soul finally free.

Finally.

She won't lose her daughter. Not to anyone, and certainly not to Harry anymore. She should have stood up to him that time in the office, and she regrets not fighting harder, but today, she's a mercenary on a sacred mission.

For a second, she wishes him pain, so much pain that he doesn't remember his own name.

She blinks the thought away.

* * *

" _Mom?"_

" _Hm?"_

" _If you and dad break up, do you get to keep the house?"_

" _You want to keep the house?"_

" _I love the house. It's where you taught me how to cook eggs for the first time and how to create animals out of sheets_ _of paper. It's where you taught me that no matter what, you can always get back up."_

 _Bea smiles. There's some truth to it._

" _You fucking bitch, wait until we're in the same room again and we'll see who'll come out of it alive!"_

* * *

Harry's voice is extremely loud, and hard, and it travels all the way from where he is to where Allie is hiding. She's been spying on him from times to times to make sure he doesn't try and follow Bea out of the country. It hadn't taken her a long time to figure out that he had no idea what was happening with his daughter, and she had almost stopped her visits. Tonight was supposed to be the last night.

Until she'd heard that sentence.

" _You won't go to the cops!"_

He's been talking to Bea, there's no doubt about it, and the words he says steal Allie's calm composure and set her anger on fire, multiplying her rage by a hundred. Her heart cracks open and she bleeds pain and love and passion at the same time. It's chaos in her chest and it's the end of the world in her head.

" _I'll fucking kill you!"_

She sees him throwing his phone to the ground and it's the last thing she hears. It's a death threat, loud and clear, and Allie doesn't bother listening to the rest of the conversation. Unaware that this was, indeed, the end of this conversation, she dashes through the streets, crossing at red lights and avoiding reckless drivers.

Bea.

Bea is in danger.

Bea still talks to him, and it's understandable given that they have a child together, but Allie cannot get over the fact that he still verbally abuses her. She won't passively stand there and listen without reacting this time. She won't give him a chance to act. She won't give him a chance to hurt Bea again.

Screw her meticulous planning, she'll act tonight and strike without hesitation.

Because Bea's life is in danger and Allie will burn this entire universe to the ground before she lets him approach Bea.

No one's there but Meg when Allie arrives to the Red Right Hand's familiar headquarters. The second their eyes meet, a thousand unspoken words travel between the two of them. They know each other well enough to hear what cannot be said and all it takes is a simple nod to seal the contract.

"You sure about this?"

"Absolutely," Allie states.

"Kaz?"

"It's best if she doesn't know about it."

Meg stares at Allie, long and pensive, and Allie never once looks away.

Meg nods and grabs two masks, handing one out to the blonde like she'd been expecting this moment.

"The plan?"

"I know it isn't exactly what we had in mind, but it doesn't matter. He's home tonight, I know it."

"Same location?"

"Yes."

Meg blinks a few times and breathes in deeply.

"Do we strike to kill?" she whispers, afraid to be heard out loud.

 _Yes._

 _Yes, for sure, I want him dead,_ is all Allie can think about. But the rational part of herself refuses to be labelled as a murderer for the rest of her life. It isn't who she is, and it isn't why she's alive. If she's going to be remembered for something, it won't be for murder.

And Bea. Gosh, Bea would never forgive her.

"No. He'll have a chance to escape with the back door, but… I want to do some damage first. He needs to fear for his life," she declares solemnly. "He needs to be so scared that he'll shit his pants. He needs to know what it's like to be trapped."

He needs to feel hunted for once in his miserable life.

"And if we're caught?" she asks calmly.

"No one will know you were there. You run."

They shake hands and Allie makes a pact with the devil.

The Red Right Hand member is quick to react, lead by a blonde driven by the highest power that exists on this Earth: the will to protect someone.

Allie grabs a few tools and heads out, followed by Meg carrying two huge tanks. It's dark outside, and it's easy for them to move without being suspicious. Adrenaline rushes through her body and Allie feels invincible.

By the time they arrive at Harry's place, the man's voice is nowhere to be heard, but his shadow is visible through the curtains of what appears to be his bedroom on the second floor. When she sees him, Allie sees red. If she could, she'd climb up that wall and slices his vocal chords, forever stealing his voice so he can't ever threaten Bea again. She'd break his legs so he can't kick anyone again. She'd break his arms and hands so he can't punch anyone again.

She isn't a monster, but sometimes, she thinks she'd rather become a monster than see Bea be hurt again. She'd rather become a monster than let him roams the streets freely. At least, she'll be a monster that only targets the bad people, not the innocent ones.

She remembers the first time she's gotten back at a man for what he did to her. She had felt like a goddess and she'd quickly became addicted to that feeling.

She feels just the same tonight and she's ready to trade her soul again.

She's lost herself so many times already, she knows she'll be able to find herself eventually.

She doesn't need to confirm that it's Harry because she's so blinded by hatred and the need to protect Bea, and the need to have revenge in the name of the woman she loves, that she is convinced it is him.

It's that same bindless that prevents her from thinking about what Bea would think of all of this.

All she hears in her head are the words Harry said.

He'll kill her.

He'll kill Bea.

Bea will cease to exist, and so will she, Allie's sure of it.

He needs to learn that he's a mortal, a human with no right to control another one. He needs to learn that he's not above death, above fear, above pain.

She points to the garage, and two seconds later, Meg is fiddling with the door and forcing it open.

She walks in, as silently as she can, and looks around while Meg goes to work on the front door of the house. The garage is full of objects. Tools, old kitchen equipment, bikes, old furniture, even a shiny mustang that looks like it was bought recently.

Allie shakes her head in frustration.

He doesn't deserve any of this. He doesn't deserve anything at all. People like him, they don't deserve to be successful, they don't deserve money or fame or the little things that make life worth living. They only deserve to be in hell for the rest of their existence.

"The front door's blocked, the back door isn't," Meg whispers, joining Allie in the garage.

The blonde nods. Everything is going according to plan, to her very impulsive and careless plan.

"You know what to do," she whispers as Meg carefully walks to the electrical panel.

Meg winks like she's done it a thousand times. She plays with the cables and damages them just enough to fool anyone's eyes.

When Allie pours gasoline on the floor, she thinks of all the things he's done to Bea, and she wishes she could drown this house in flammable liquid. It's messy and the smell attacks her throat and chokes her alive, but she fights through it until the very last drop hits the ground. It's not much, just enough to make the authorities believe that it's coming from a leak from the car, not nearly enough to make them believe in a criminal act.

She's trained for this. She's done this before.

"It'll be fine," she promises her friend as the smallest flame is born from the match she's carefully holding.

Her hand is shaking from the ungodly weight of the small wooden stick.

"It'll be fine," she repeats to herself.

Allie watches the flame with a calculated sight.

All she needs to do is to let the match fall to the floor.

* * *

 **People have been asking for more Allie. The next chapter, which is already written, is 99% Ballie, with an increased focus on Allie.**

 **Thank you for reading!**


	14. Love is the what

**Chapter's title comes from "This is why I need you" by Jesse Ruben.**

 **More Ballie fluff and angst.**

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Love is the what**

Revenge.

It is an entity of its own, older than humanity itself, born from the union of the darkest hatred and the vilest sense of injustice.

It is powerful and ruthless, cruel and cold, impulsive and flawed and tragically human. It brainwashes everyone, kids, teenagers, adults from all over the world, and tricks them into thinking that their lives will be cured of all wrongfulness if they just _take what they deserve_.

It sings a wicked song that enchants its listeners and makes them believe that the dead will come back to the land of the living, and that the balance of the world will be fixed if they choose war over forgiveness.

Revenge is a sweet, delicious promise that lure people into its arms, only to choke and suffocate them.

An eye for an eye, the tempting law of retaliation, the kingdom of revenge is the one to cross to reach the door leading to paradise. Everyone forgets about the countless poisonous thorns scattered all over the entrance. Everyone believes that those thorns are mere accessories created to scare the weak, those poor human beings who are not fierce enough to fight for themselves.

Revenge has always been her motivation.

When she was beaten and left for dead, when she was raped and tortured, all she'd thought about was the one day she'd make them pay for all of this. It was what had kept her going, the knowledge that someday, she'd stand above them and watch fear exists in their eyes.

When she'd met Kaz, when she'd earned her place within the Red Right Hand, she'd tasted freedom, tasted justice for the very first time. Real justice, not its foolish twin made by the imperfect societal laws. Gone were the feelings of inferiorities and the everlasting sorrows that characterized her life.

She had felt at the top of the world, like finally, finally something was fair. Finally, she was getting fair value for all the shit that had rained on her during the past years of her life.

And as she stares at the empty garage while the smell of gasoline still irritates her throat, she starts feeling sick, a kind of sickness that isn't born from a virus or a bacteria.

She closes her eyes, and her world turns black, only for her imagination to play tricks on her.

She imagines a house with locked doors and an inferno burning in its garage. She imagines the hungry flames peaking from the smallest opening between the garage door and the hard road, and she thinks she hears the sparks devouring everything that stands in their way. She imagines a solitary shadow moving frantically behind the curtains, counting down the seconds to his life.

She opens her eyes as the extremely real flame starts burning her fingers and something new is creating fireworks within her.

As powerful as revenge, as destructive as it is.

Regrets.

 _Fuck._

She blows the flame in a quick exhale and runs away as fast as she can, jumping over the obstacles and dashing from one intersection to another. She runs with the imaginary memory of the sound the match made when she'd dropped it to the floor. She runs with the imaginary heat from the sudden burst of flames licking her face. She runs with the imaginary shades of orange and yellow engraved in her mind.

She runs with the fear that someone is going to catch her and realizes what she's done.

What she's almost done.

She runs until her legs are trembling under her weight and her lungs are crying under her skin. She runs until Harry's house is so far away that she doesn't quite recognize the streets anymore. She runs until all she can hear are crickets and the sweet gush of warm air surrounding her.

Regrets are her sworn enemies.

Enemies that threaten to make her feel things she doesn't want to feel, like fear and doubt and guilt, things that could have killed her when she lived in the streets and sold her body for money. Never in years had she allowed herself to have regrets, and maybe that had been the key to her survival.

Revenge used to make her feel better. It used to be the only antidote to the perpetual pain she was victim of. If she could inflict pain to her abusers, then she'd have a reason to live. She'd naively thought that it would remain the same, that even today, revenge in Bea's name would feel like a blessing.

She'd been wrong.

Now there is Bea, who taught her to love when she wanted to hate, and to forgive when she wanted to murder. Bea, who taught her to laugh when she was overwhelmed with sadness, and to care for her life in a way she never had before. Bea, who would probably look at her with so much disappointment in her eyes if she learned the truth.

Bea, whose memory is causing Allie to have those damn regrets in the first place, and Allie wants to dismiss her existence but she can't, she never will.

Bea, who was still on the receiving end of a death threat, and Allie thinks that for that reason alone, her plan was justified.

The feeling is gone within seconds.

Harry isn't her fight, she realizes dreadfully. If it were, maybe it'd be easier. Maybe it'd be less frustrating for her and a little simpler to deal with. But it's not, and all she can do is watch and wait, and it's most painful part because she wants so badly for him to pay for his crimes.

To pay for making Bea believe that she wasn't worthy of love.

The thought of getting a fix briefly crosses her mind, like it always does when she's feeling anxious and out of place. Maybe forgetting her own existence will make her forget that she'd almost crossed the fragile line between right and wrong. She breathes harder as she comes to a stop, in front of Bea's apartment.

She could keep going, straight ahead and then a left, two right, and straight ahead for a mere two kilometers. There, she'd find an abandoned building, with dealers ready to sell gear in exchange for money and a part of her soul. She's well known, and there's no doubt that they would let her in without questioning her whereabouts. If anything, they'd just cheer for her, happy to have a loyal client back.

She could keep going and follow the road that she will never forget no matter how hard she tries to.

Or she could walk in the apartment and pretend like this night never existed.

She hates that, no matter how's long it's been, and how much better she's doing, the idea of taking drugs still visits her now and then, especially in her vulnerable moments. She can't fully accept that it's something she'll have to live with for the rest of her life. Something she wants, something she believes she needs, that might destroy her life if she ever fails at resisting temptation.

She won't take drugs, she sings in her head like the chorus of her favorite song. She walks into the apartment and stays immobile for a few minutes, welcoming the darkness.

The soft sounds of the imaginary firetruck's sirens guide her through the night, along with the harsh clanks of the imaginary prison bars locking her in.

* * *

One week flies by, during which Allie pretends that her life isn't spiralling out of control whenever she talks with Bea. If Bea senses that something is wrong, she has the decency not to ask and Allie finds it harder to lie with every passing minute.

She should have focused more on the _after_ of it all because there's only so long she can live with this heavy burden on her shoulders, and she can feel her spine bending under the weight. She knows Bea doesn't know about the plan. Bea would have mentioned it otherwise, but by some kind of miraculous divine gesture, Bea has been left in the dark by Harry.

Harry, who must have seen by now that there were gasoline on the floor of his garage and that the electrical panel was tampered with.

Harry, who must have wondered why his front door was practically locked from the outside.

Harry, who might be looking for someone to blame, for some kind of explanation.

Allie wonders when her mistakes will catch up with her and she hopes she will have enough time to figure out her next move.

She has no time at all and she knows it, and every time she thinks she's found the right way to tell Bea about her reckless plan that didn't go through, Bea tells her that she misses her and Allie turns into a useless smitten puddle joke of a human being.

She does the only thing she can do. She watches the news every day with anxiety controlling her soul. She watches intensely and listens to every detail, but they never mention anything about Harry, much less Harry's uptown neighborhood.

Allie never lets her guard down.

* * *

The first time they have a videocall, Bea is so nervous that she thinks she might pass out. They've settled the date, the hour, even the minute when the call will be made, but it doesn't reassure her at all.

She sweats like it's the middle of summer despite the chilled air of her surroundings, and she paces a dozen kilometers in the small hospital room only. The only reason she stops is because she doesn't want Debbie to vicariously get stressed too. But then, she starts practicing how to say _hello_ to the mirror and she feels even more ridiculous.

She waits apprehensively for the moment she knows Allie will call like it's going to be her demise. She doesn't understand why she's such a messy mess. Allie knows her. She knows Allie. They know each other well. They kissed and shared their deepest issues with one another for God's sake, so why the fuck is she so scared?

The last time they spoke on the phone was just yesterday and it went perfectly fine. Except for the recent ways Allie's been stumbling on her words and laughing nervously in a way that doesn't really fit her, the call had been perfectly normal.

Bea has an explanation for the change of behavior and it makes sense to her: they've been away from each other for so long that they don't know how to act around each other anymore. And this panicked state she's currently in over a small video call proves it even more.

It's been three weeks since they last _saw_ each other, and Bea is starting to believe that this is enough for Allie to forget how she looks like. And the second that Allie sees her again, then she might realize that Bea isn't who she remembers her to be. She might not want Bea anymore, when she sees the hospital room around the redhead, and the dark circles under her eyes, and the exhaustion tattooed everywhere on Bea's features.

It's stupid, irrational, and yet, it terrifies Bea.

She rushes to get a cup of coffee because it's late, and it's dark, and she will hate herself if she falls asleep before Allie calls.

A few minutes later, her pocket vibrates and she almost drops her coffee to the floor as she stumbles to press the right button on her phone to answer what she is sure is a very impatient Allie.

Allie looks just the same, eyes bluer than the color blue, brighter than the brightest sapphire.

"Hey," Bea says casually, cursing herself in her head.

"Hey yourself," Allie replies just as casually.

They're hopeless dorks, but the way Allie smiles erases Bea's fears in a second, and the way Bea grins shyly soothes Allie's worries instantly.

Bea is just as stunning as Allie remembers her to be, and Allie is just as breathtaking as Bea remembers her to be.

It doesn't matter that the image is a little blurred. They might be thousands of kilometers apart, but they feel like they've finally come home and the pain lifts from their chests.

"I'm looking for my girlfriend. Have you seen her?" Allie asks with an innocent look. "She's gorgeous, has flamboyant red hair, hypnotizing dark eyes, lips to die for…"

"Sounds like quite a catch," Bea smirks with a trace of shyness. "I've seen her around. Got a message for her?"

"Tell her she stole my heart weeks ago and I still haven't gotten used to being a zombie so I want it back."

"You're full of shit," Bea laughs.

"Yeah, I am, I don't want my heart back. Who needs a heart anyway? Being alive is overrated. She can keep it as long as she wants."

Bea rolls her eyes playfully and Allie winks, and they spend a small eternity staring at each other in silence and tracing lines with their irises.

Bea didn't think it was possible for her to miss Allie more than she already does, but seeing her like that, joyful and a little sad at the same time, makes her heart ache for the distance she can't cross.

"You're beautiful," Allie murmurs.

Bea blushes, as if even today, she can't believe those words and the way Allie pronounces them like there is no greater truth in the universe.

She still isn't used to the idea that someone, someone like Allie, finds her _beautiful,_ inside and out _,_ especially when she's been told for years that she was worth nothing.

It all feels surreal.

"How's sleeping beauty?"

Bea glances toward the hospital bed. She doesn't know if she's gotten used to the sight of her daughter or if it's because Allie can _see_ her too, but the hurt is not as sharp as the day before. There's still too many needles and not enough signs that Debbie is conscious, but at least, her daughter hasn't gotten worse.

"Nothing has changed," Bea declares. "She's still sleeping."

That must mean she's doing better, right? Bea refuses to believe otherwise.

"She'll get better," Allie states. "And how are you?"

"Better."

And it's true. For the first time, it's true, and she isn't lying or pretending to be something she's not. She doesn't have an empty stomach due to spending hours in Debbie's room without moving. She doesn't feel like she might pass out whenever she blinks because of the lack of the sleep.

She's better.

It's not easier, but Allie helps.

"You miss me?" Allie charmingly wonders.

Bea chuckles because yes, she does, and she won't pretend like she doesn't anymore.

She will forever be grateful that Franky has gotten the internet because the sight of Allie reminds her that this feeling of missing someone is temporary. She might be feeling like her heart is being stretched to its limits, trying to reach Allie across the distance, but she knows now that someday, it'll be back to its normal shape.

She looks outside. The moon is full and no stars pierce through the polluted sky, and it would send her into a grey spiral of emotions any other night, but not tonight. Tonight, she believes that all the stars in the universe exist only within Allie's shining eyes.

"I miss you," she breathes.

"Me too," Allie replies instantly, like she's been holding on to these words for too long. "But we're together now, it's all that matters."

Bea smiles because Allie is waiting for her. She's not gone, yet, claiming that it's taking too long for Bea to come back. She's not blaming her for being far. She's not mad, or angry, or resentful. She's supportive and patient and just the same woman as before, the one who transforms Bea's life into a rollercoaster of the most extravagant discoveries.

"What have you been up to?" Bea asks curiously. "Have you found a job yet?"

She knows how important it is for Allie to contribute to the apartment, and she's hoping that those weeks have led to interesting opportunities.

She hears the hesitation before she hears the words. She hears the moment Allie opens her mouth and closes it, and the moment her breath itches in her throat in a quiet, hidden way. She hears the moment where Allie decides to change her answer. She notices the way the silence lasts too long and the way Allie's voice trembles when she replies.

"No job, but I'm working on it," Allie answers.

"Really?" Bea replies, analyzing Allie's unspoken words.

"Yeah, it's a mess out there. But I'm getting to it, I swear."

That wasn't a lie, and Bea nods, fully aware that something's wrong, but not enough of a fool to ask about it on the very first time they see each other again in what feels like ages.

This is a good time. This isn't a moment she wants to ruin. And she knows too well what happens when she accuses someone of lying. A punch in the face, a kick in the stomach, a look of disgust and a few words that are meant to hurt and destroy.

Allie wouldn't do any of this, Bea knows, but the fear is still there, and nothing else matters for a few seconds.

She tells herself that Allie must have a good reason and she makes a mental note to remember about it later.

She stares outside again. The moon is judging her without a word and Bea shivers as Allie tells her all about her plans for today.

Bea shakes her head and focuses on the blonde's words. It doesn't matter, what Allie might be hiding, because right now, of all the places Allie could be tonight, she is here with her.

* * *

The second time they videocall, the tension is still there, but it's slowly disappearing into the ambient air. Allie arrives fifteen minutes earlier at Franky's place. Franky winks when she says she'll be back in an hour, and Allie rolls her eyes, just like the very first time, knowing too well what the brunette has in mind.

They've had their last call less than twenty-four hours ago, and Allie is already on the edge of her seat, trembling with impatience as she counts down the seconds before they see each other again. She runs her fingers through her hair, trying to tame the blonde mess on top of her head. She knows she shouldn't care so much, but why in the hell is this one hair standing straight on her head?!

By some kind of miracle, she manages to calm herself down and focus on the wonder of technology that allows them to see each other.

She thinks they've found a way to thrive, to kill the feeling of missing someone, to beat the distance trying to keep them apart. The ocean can try to separate them, but it will never win. They're stronger than whatever situation life throws at them, and they're getting good at proving it.

She sits on the couch and connects her phone to the internet. It takes a few seconds to load and then she's on, with a few minutes to spare before it's time for her to contact the woman she dreams about.

She searches for information about Harry and the police, but she finds none. She comes to the conclusion that she's safe, for now, and that no one is looking for anything. It quietens the beating of her heart, but it doesn't repel the worrying thoughts in her mind.

The fire didn't happen, she repeats herself constantly in her head. It didn't happen, so why is she always on the edge of breaking down? Why does she act like it did happen?

 _Because Bea will still be disappointed in her._

She doesn't know what to tell Bea, but she's well aware that the longer she waits, the more she risks in this relationship. She can't hide anything from Bea. Lies aren't good in a relationship, especially one like theirs, where both sides have been hurt too much in the past.

And even if the fire didn't happen, even if she ran away so fast that lightspeed became jealous, Allie knows that she needs to come clean to Bea because she almost did it. She almost set fire to Harry's place, and that fact alone is enough to build a wall between them if it ever comes out from the wrong mouth.

She's gambling with this traitorous truth and she loathes this kind of responsibility. It was never supposed to be about hiding something from Bea. It was never about betraying Bea's trust. It was never about being scared that Bea might hate her.

And yet, it turned to this, and now she's wishing she could travel to the past to change everything.

She planned everything except the way to deal with those unpleasant feelings.

She sighs loudly and puts on her stoical mask on her face while she clicks the call button.

"I don't know if you've ever been here, but it's too damn cold for my own good," Bea declares as soon as the signal connects them. She's wearing a hat with the hospital logo on it, and Allie finds it instantly too cute for her to handle.

Allie smiles, incapable to stop herself. There's something about seeing Bea that just makes her irrationally happy, no matter what the hell is going on in her mind. Maybe it has to do with the fact that whenever Bea is here with her, her heart goes racing a thousand miles per hour.

"How cold is it?" she asks, aware that it is winter on the other continent.

"It wasn't that bad until now. They're hit by a cold wave and those useless walls do nothing to stop it," Bea groans. "I didn't even know people could survive this. I'm turning into ice."

"You look adorable with that hat," Allie smirks, imagining the wild red curls on Bea's head puffing out as soon as the hat would be removed.

"I look ridiculous and I hate hats, and this one's no exception," Bea stubbornly answers like she hadn't spent thirty minutes before the call trying to fix her hair and makes herself looks perfect for Allie.

"You still look adorable," Allie shrugs. "And beautiful."

She grins wider, thinking she can see Bea turns a light shade of pink.

"It's hot here. I could use some snow," Allie sighs. It's always ridiculously hot in this country. "I think we're going to have a stupidly high electricity bill because of the many times I stuck my head in the freezer. Sorry. I couldn't stand the idea of taking a third cold shower."

Bea lets out a chuckle and Allie dances in its symphony.

"How's Debbie?"

"Please, take the cold away," Bea groans. "I asked for an extra blanket for her. I don't know if she can feel the weather, but if she can, I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't want to wake up for that reason alone."

"Any sign at all that she might wake up soon?"

"No," Bea replies, and with that single word, Allie feels the weight of the world resting on Bea's shoulders.

Allie feels another kind of weight drops on her own shoulders, thinking that she should be able to do more, that she wants to do more, but she can't. She wishes she could take Bea's place, be the one with a loved one fighting for their life, be the one waiting and drowning in a sky of uncertainties, be the one hoping and losing hope within the lifespan of a second.

But she can't. She's already done enough. Hell, she's already done _too much_ because of her recent actions, and she's praying that she's hasn't jeopardized anything with her recklessness. All she can do is keeping calling Bea, keep reminding her that there is hope and that she won't ever leave her alone.

"Sometimes I think she knows I'm here, and that's why she's not coming back," Bea whispers sadly.

Allie shivers at the way Bea believes in those words. It baffles her that, after all this time, after everything they've gone through, Bea still lacks a fundamental layer of trust in herself, and there's nothing she can do about it.

She could tell Bea all the compliments in the world, serenade her with a song combining all the different ways she sees her, and write her an endless poem about why she's come to care for her, it won't do anything unless Bea decides to believe it herself.

"She's probably still mad at me and she doesn't want to see me again," Bea laughs coldly. "I guess I can't blame her."

"She'll be back. You know how these young adults are. Trying to act all though and shit," Allie replies, trying to redirect the conversation.

Something suddenly clicks on the other side and Allie frowns, thinking the call has disconnected when Bea stops moving altogether. It's almost comical, the way Bea's frozen in the middle of her action, mouth half open and eyelids fluttering down. Allie thinks it's convenient, the way the call interrupts the conversation, choosing the right moment to slice through the tension as if it had a mind of its own.

"Sorry about that," Bea says, a few seconds after the image stops being still. "I had to reject Harry's call."

Allie's posture stiffens and a few drops of anger contaminate the peaceful lake of her emotions.

"He's calling you?" she says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched and eyes scanning Bea's face in search for any hint of distress.

Flashbacks bring her back to that fateful night, and she can only imagine what Harry wants to ask Bea, what he wants to accuse her of.

How dare he call her? How dare he still call her, threaten her, and go after her? The truth will come out, sooner than later, Allie is mortified at what's going to happen next. Not only will he never stop, he will also tell Bea about the gas and the panel and the door, and then Bea will never forgive her.

Which is stupid because Harry isn't even aware that Allie exists, so how could he blame her?

Allie thinks her heartbeat must be breaking records and the heat of the summer has nothing to do with the way she's suddenly soaked in her own sweat. She shakes, and almost passes out from the gripping fear strangling her.

She's fuming too, but the smoke clouding her judgment vanishes when she hears Bea laughing.

Allie has been confused many times in her life, but never as much as this very moment.

"I know what you're thinking," Bea explains. "I won't answer. Not anymore. If he wants to talk to me, he'll do it through my lawyer."

Allie watches silently as Bea starts positively glowing.

"He called me a few days ago. I didn't tell you about it because I couldn't quite believe it myself," she scoffs in disbelief. "He threatened me."

Allie knows all of this because she was there, and she heard it, and she acted, and now, she doesn't think she's ready for whatever it is that Bea will reveal to her. Alarms are going off in her head and deafening her, blocking all sounds from the outside world except for Bea's voice, quiet and insanely loud at the same time.

"He threatened to kill me. And guess what I did?" Bea looks like the proudest person on Earth and Allie is _livid._ "I told him to fuck off. I did it. I stood my ground. So now, he can't get to me, and I won't slip again, I won't let him in again."

Bea is bright with joy and pride, and Allie feels smaller than she's been in years.

Fuck.

Bea did it.

Bea told him to piss off, and Allie never knew it, never even suspected it, and she acted impulsively, thinking that it would protect Bea. Of course, Bea would know to protect herself, what the hell did Allie think when she wanted to drop the match and light up the sky?

Relief roars savagely in her head and takes over her senses.

Allie knows Bea is strong and impossibly stubborn. Allie knows that Bea would never let Harry win in the end. She knows that Bea would not have let him hit her again.

But Allie also knows what it's like to be beaten, to be kicked, and crushed, and have her dignity ripped apart from her. Allie knows what it's like to lose a life under someone else's punches. Allie knows what it's like to lose a loved one she could have protected better.

Allie thinks she's going to throw up from the whirlpool of contradicting thoughts wrecking her brain.

She's shaking on her seat, unsure how to react, happy and petrified at the same time, cursing her past and the existence of the Red Right Hand, and its everlasting influence on her.

"I'm – I'm proud of you," she stammers. "You didn't talk him after that?"

"I didn't," Bea replies, beaming with this newfound royal power of hers. "I shut him down."

"That's fucking amazing," Allie curses, exhilarating.

She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there's nothing but joy in them.

 _Bea did it._

She sighs loudly, still trying to tell her body to stop trembling.

"Are you okay?" Bea asks, concerned at Allie's strange behavior.

"Yeah, it's just the weather, you know?" Allie mutters, hoping that Bea won't insist. "I'm happy for you, I'm so incredibly happy, Bea."

"I have an idea!" Bea claims loudly, her fierceness so strong that it slaps Allie in the face. "Wait here."

Allie watches as Bea gets up and practically runs out of the frame. She stays, of course she does, even though she wants to run and hide, never to be found again. But where could she go? Wherever she goes, Bea will find her, and no matter how far she runs, her heart will guide her back to Bea.

Her heart will guide her and her brain will torture her until she tells Bea where she's been, what she wanted to do, and how close she was to do it.

Bea comes back and Allie's eyes widen at the sight of a small cone in Bea's hands.

"What is this?" Allie asks, hoping that she sounds as normal as she can.

"Ice cream," Bea grins with complicity. "To cool you off. I'll eat it and you can pretend the cold is being transferred to you."

It's silly, and childish, and it has no chance to work, but Allie loves it.

Allie thinks she can see goosebumps appearing on Bea's skin as the older woman starts eating the cold treat, and she wonders why, why does the world keep reminding her that she doesn't deserve any of Bea's kindness right now?

"Are you cold now?" Bea asks, licking her lips as the ice cream melts.

Allie wants nothing more than to lean in and kiss the flavors directly from Bea's lips.

"I am," she smiles, grateful and shattered at the same time. "I'll be back."

She comes back with a fuming hot chocolate topped with a few mini marshmallows. The first sip burns her tongue and leaves a stinging pain in her mouth, but Bea's smiling like she knows Allie is trying to warm her up, and everything is better, and everything is worse at the same time.

Maybe if she does this sweet action, it'll erase the gargantuan mistake she made.

"Are you colder now?"

"Yeah. Are you warmer?"

Bea nods ardently, her soul pulsating at the sight of Allie.

"Yeah."

* * *

The third time they see each other, there's no tension at all. No stress related to the fear of being rejected, no anxiety related to the idea that they might not appear just as beautiful as they want to be. They both accept the fact that this small videocall, this glimmer of light in the night, is the only way they can fight the madness threatening to take them both over, so there's no point thinking about the little details.

Bea wakes up a few minutes before the call and she doesn't bother trying to brush her hair. She glances at Debbie, scanning her daughter's body to make sure nothing has changed over the night. She lets sadness dig deeper inside her heart when the same lifeless sight is offered to her.

She told Harry to piss off. She fought back and meant it. She came all the way here. She's risking her future with every minute she spends here. And none of it is enough to wake Debbie up. It's too little too late and she knows she will never forget this moment, this feeling.

She swears never to be too late again.

She stays immobile, lost in her thoughts until the familiar ringtone disturbs the silence.

"Good morning," Allie grins at the sight of her sleepy girlfriend.

"Good evening," she replies, half of her mind on automatic mode.

"You look great."

It seems to be a recurring theme for them to start a conversation by complimenting each other, except this time, Allie's tone is full of mockery and Bea snorts at the comment.

"I knew you'd like it. I planned to stay up late and wake up looking like that just for you."

"You know how to get to my heart," Allie answers, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Did you ever doubt it?"

Allie pretends to think about it and Bea blocks the camera with her hand.

"Hey! Come back!" Allie yells instantly. "You can't rob me of your sight or I'll call the police."

"Oh yeah, and what are you going to tell them?"

"Someone stole the most precious masterpiece in the world and I want it back."

Bea explodes with laughter and she thinks she wants to start every day just like that.

"I have something for you," Allie declares, not wasting any time.

Bea can't blame her. Most of the time, they still communicate with their phones and voices. Whenever they are lucky enough to videocall, they are constantly aware that time is a rarity.

Bea frowns when Allie pulls out a phone from her pocket and quickly dials a number, making sure the call is on speakers. Bea hears the ringtone and a voice she recognizes replies within seconds.

"Bea?" the voice asks tentatively. It's small, and weak, but it's also so loud that it pierces through Bea's eardrums and pounds on the redhead's brain until it turns to mush.

Allie waits for Bea to answer, except Bea is speechless.

"Is anyone here?" the voice asks again, coughing the words out.

Bea's insides are all tangled up and she mentally tugs at them, trying to separate them. They twist even more when the coughing doesn't stop, and Bea absently raises a hand, hoping she'll reach the other side. But her fingers knock on the screen of her phone and she's painfully reminded that she's somewhere else.

"I think you broke her," Allie whispers after a few seconds. "Hold on."

Allie pokes the camera like it's going to poke Bea's head, and it works, and Bea blinks, and blinks and blinks again until her voice comes back, unstoppable.

"Maxie? Is that you? How are you?" she throws questions at the woman on the phone, not giving her the time to answer. "Are you still at the hospital? Did the operation go well? And – "

Someone laughs, and it sounds like life coming back to tell her that she cannot give up, no matter how hopeless a situation may appear to be.

Life has the most enchanting laugh.

"I'm good, Bea," Maxine replies, so far but so close at the same time. "I'm still recovering from the operation, but I'm fine. I'm alive."

Yes. She's alive. And if Maxine is alive, if she's out there, with a beating heart and her comforting warmth unshattered, then everything is going to be alright, Bea thinks.

"I was so worried. I thought I…"

She can't finish her sentence, but Maxine does it for her, and Bea wonders why she has ever thought that a stupid cancer would be enough to take her friend away from her. No cancer can take away someone like Maxine. No cancer is strong enough to take love and friendship and family away.

"You thought you'd lost me?" Maxine asks softly. "I thought I'd lost me too. And then Franky came to see me. And Booms. And even Allie. And in their eyes, I could see myself. Even without my hair and my breasts, I could still recognize the person they saw. Me."

"We would never let you go… I'm so happy to hear your voice," Bea replies. "I might be even happier than I am to see Allie," she adds with a teasing tone.

Allie gasps and pouts, and it's still the most beautiful sight Bea has ever seen.

"I can't talk for a long time, love. I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay. And that I hope you're surviving without Allie by your side. I know how lost you get without her."

There's a twinkle in Allie's eyes and Bea tries not to let her heart jump out of her chest, but she thinks she can still see floating in the air around her.

Stupid useless organ.

"Don't even try to deny it. And if it makes you feel any better, Allie isn't better than you."

Bea chuckles and Allie rolls her eyes, and Maxine laughs like she can see them.

"When are you leaving the hospital?" Bea asks.

"Soon. A few days. I called Wentworth to let them know. Once I'm fully recovered, I can go back, and I'll start searching for a better place to be."

"Don't rush too much," Bea warns. "I – I need you to stay safe and healthy."

Maxine's voice hums approvingly, and Bea can feel the embrace coming from the other side of the phone. She imagines Maxine's strong arms around her shoulders, sharing her inner strength with her. There's no place she'd rather be in the moment, except maybe Allie's arms.

"How dare you insinuate that I won't make it," Maxine challenges, half serious. "If anything, I'm the one who should be worried about you. I was surprised when Allie suggested we talk on the phone. I thought you'd be too focused on your daughter to function properly."

Bea remains quiet.

"How long has it been since you left this hospital room?"

"I just woke up, give me a chance."

"You know what I mean. You look like you've been living on this chair. You look like you haven't slept well in days, and I'm sure I can smell how stinky you are from where I am."

"You can't even see me!" Bea protests, her mouth hanging open while she's shaking her head fervently.

"You're right, Maxine," Allie retorts, sticking her tongue playfully at Bea.

Bea rolls her eyes and groans an excuse that can't be heard properly.

"I have a good intuition. And I know you. So, since you've been there for so long, how is Debbie?" Maxine asks.

"Unconscious," Bea says with a dull voice, seemingly putting an abrupt end to a lightweighted conversation.

There's a moment of silence, and Allie isn't sure what to reply, but Maxine does.

"So she's alive," Maxine replies knowingly. "She's just being an ass and making you wait longer than you should."

Bea scoffs, halfway through the process of healing herself.

"Yes, she is," she admits.

"You know she won't give up, right? So don't you dare give up either," Maxine repeats. "I want to meet her. I want to knock some sense into her when she's here, and she owes me an explanation for making her mother so worried."

"She won't let you place a word," Bea grins. "She'll bites back and you'll find yourself stuck in a corner."

"I wouldn't expect anything else from your blood," Maxine concedes. "She's a fighter, there's no doubt about it, just like you are."

Bea nods even though Maxine can't see her. She meets Allie's eyes. There are too many emotions hiding in them for Bea to see them clearly, but she recognizes the overwhelming amount of support.

"You need to get out of there," Maxine shoots at her, the words hard and soft at the same time. "Hospital food isn't something you should have for every meal. And I bet a full night of sleep and a long shower would do you good."

"I don't want to," Bea answers like a petulant stubborn child. "And you can't make me."

"If Debbie wakes up and sees you looking at her like that, she'll hardly recognize you," Maxine chimes in return. "And then she'll scream, and she'll alert security, and you'll be kicked out of her room with no chance of being readmitted inside."

Her statement is full of nonsense, and it brings a spark of joy in Bea's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure that'll happen," she says with sarcasm.

She receives a look from Allie and she can only dismiss it with a quick move of her hand.

"I knew from the first time I met you that you were a warrior. A smart one. Don't make me be wrong, you know how much I hate it," Maxine declares. "I'll have to hunt your ass down in America. And then Allie here will hunt mine. And then Franky will go for Allie, and then who knows will come for Franky after. It'll be a never-ending massacre. Do you really want to be the one starting it all?"

"Are you sure you're not overreacting a little bit?"

Maxine's voice sounds like a parody of herself when she answers.

"Me? Overreacting? Bea Smith, I will never overreact when it comes to you because it seems to be the only way my messages can reach you. Now, I need to go but tell me you won't ignore my advice again."

Allie quirks an eyebrow, silently questioning Bea about what _again_ means, and Bea momentarily looks like a headless chicken, fumbling with her words and unable to let out a single clear sound out of her mouth.

"Bea?" Maxine accuses through the phone. "Did you forget, _AGAIN?"_

Bea doesn't say anything, leaving Maxine to guess the obvious answer.

"I don't know what to do with you, woman!" Maxine sighs. "I'll talk to you soon, okay? Just take care of yourself, go spend a night in a hotel, sleep, rest. Act like you're alive."

"Same for you, Maxie."

The call ends and Maxine is gone, and Bea wishes she wasn't because now, there's only her and Allie, and the echoing _again_.

Maxine sounded good, Bea reminisces. Good, great even. Better than she's been in a while. Cancer free? Bea had been so excited to hear another familiar voice that she completely forgot to ask. She makes a mental note not to forget about it next time.

"What was that about?" Allie wonders, narrowing her eyes at Bea.

Bea shifts on her seat and directs her eyes on Debbie, whose ghost is probably judging the hell out of her right now.

"Come on, Franky's coming back soon. Don't make me beg for it, unless…"

"Do you ever think about something else?" Bea deadpans, the corner of her mouth twitching to fight the smile that threatens to split her face in two.

"Only when you give me the opportunity to, which is always," Allie winks.

Bea wants her stomach to stay still for more than a minute whenever Allie is around her, but it seems like an impossible request to ask her body. The second she thinks about it, her heart joins in and beats faster, soon followed by the familiar butterflies having a party in her chest.

Alright, she wants to scream, she gets it. She's doomed to feel this way for the rest of her life.

"I told her that I…" she takes a deep breath.

There's no easy way to say these words and she hates that the most important things to say are often the hardest ones to pronounce.

Then again, if it was so easy to let them out, they wouldn't hold as much power, they wouldn't mean as much. They wouldn't carry so much within them.

"I - I like you."

Allie hears it for the first time and gasps.

It's shaky, and nervous, and honest.

Bea stares directly at her through the camera. Sure, she's done things before. She's given Allie her time, her energy, and many opportunities that Allie had stopped hopping for. She's cared for her, and showed that she cared with actions and reactions, and initiatives. But to put words on those actions, to justify them with such confession, it is something that Bea never thought she'd be able to do.

"I like you, she repeats.

It's soft, and calm, and _sure._

It was written in stone and now, it's carved in gold, and it's not going anywhere.

* * *

 _I like you._

It's light, and gentle and innocent.

It's light enough that they don't fear those words like they would others, heavier ones.

It's gentle enough that they don't feel forced to think about expectations that have yet to come.

It's innocent, and it's said in a tone which Allie never knew existed. Bea didn't say it in exchange for sexual favors. She didn't it with a voice shaking from desire and a mind blinded by lust. She didn't say it with a tone that suggested she was intoxicated or drunk, or half alive and unaware that she was even pronouncing those word in the first place. She didn't say it to manipulate her, or to trick her with fake feelings and glorious lies.

Bea said it because she meant it.

She meant it and she didn't take them back afterwards, didn't do anything but repeat them again.

For the first time in her existence, Allie accepts them as they are.

 _I like you._

* * *

Allie walks down the sidewalk to where she knows she'll find the teenager again. Walk? No. She skips, she dances, she floats, she flies. She's on a high of dopamine created by the words Bea just told her. And dopamine feels good. Dopamine feels like the doors of Heaven have opened for her. She doesn't ever want to live without this feeling, this real feeling that isn't created by stupid little pills and their friends.

She wants to share this feeling with the entire world.

Words, she thinks, are more powerful than drugs, and this is the proof. Bea likes her. And chances are, Bea _likes_ her. Bea, this freaking ray of sunshine in Allie's life, likes _her._ And Allie knew it, long before Bea told her, but to hear it, to have it confirmed by Bea's voice, it gives her a kind of reassurance that she hadn't known she needed.

So, she doesn't care who judges her. Right now, she's walking on a freaking rainbow. And she's walking amongst birds and butterflies and she feels like she's in one of those happy Disney movies, until she reaches the place she's been coming to for the past few days, always around the same time. She isn't sure whyshe keeps coming, she just feels the need to.

She sees the silhouette sitting at the same spot as usual, with the same dirty hat in front of her, and with the same somber expression on her face. The girl doesn't look up, doesn't say hi, doesn't even acknowledge Allie's presence. Sometimes, Allie thinks that this girl's body might be nailed to the sidewalk.

Allie doesn't mind. The girl hasn't spoken to her ever since their very first encounter. It's a good sign, really, because she hasn't told her to piss off or who knows what else. Allie knows herself that she is lucky to receive the silence treatment rather than some less appealing alternatives.

She sits next to the teenager and says nothing.

It always starts like that. She sits next to that girl, waits, and eventually, she receives the slightest sign that her presence has been accepted. Today, it takes more time. The girl doesn't move at all and Allie starts wondering if she should leave.

And then, the stranger moves one millimeter closer to Allie. Anyone else might have been fooled, but not Allie. Her trained eyes from her years of living in the night see everything. It's her signal to start, her signal that tells her she's welcomed to stay.

It doesn't matter that the teenager doesn't answer. Allie knows that she listens, and somehow, listening is more important.

"Hey stranger, how's your day?" Allie chirps, still on her cloud of happiness. "It's me, stranger number two."

Allie hasn't told her name either, and it doesn't seem to bother the girl.

Allie doesn't hear anything in return, just like any other day. It's fine. At least, the girl is here, not somewhere lying on the floor. Allie's always worried that someday, she'll come here and there'll be no one to talk to.

"Still crappy, eh? I know how that feels. The bad days just keep on coming," Allie nods, looking ahead at the people walking on the other side of the street. "But you know what? I'm ready to share my happiness with you."

That's one thing she's noticed too. People mostly move to the other side of the street, as if this side was contaminated with radioactivity. She doesn't have to think too hard to guess how the girl must feel about it.

"I just wanted to talk to you a little. If you agree, don't say anything."

Silence.

"Great! I never told you about that, but I almost did something stupid a few days ago. Do you want to hear what it was?"

The teenager doesn't move.

"I knew you'd say yes," Allie grins. "You really like listening to me, don't you? Here's what happened. I almost ruined everything with the woman I care about by setting a house on fire. Her ex's house, to be precise. Can you believe?"

Allie waits, expecting a reaction from the girl, but there's still nothing. If anything, she even seems to become bored, as if being an arsonist was not a big deal.

"I was stupid. I thought I could make a problem go away with fire. I know, I know, not my wisest move, but I had good reasons to believe that if I didn't do anything, I'd lose her," Allie explains. "I was so close to ruin everything, but I stopped. I ran away. The problem is that even if I didn't do it, I still have to tell her about it. And that's the hard part. How do I tell her without losing her? You see my problem there?"

She glances at the teenager, more out of a reflex than anything else.

"I could tell her that I didn't mean it, but the thing is, I did. I really fucking did. I had a whole plan and I could already see it coming to life. And this woman, she can read me like an open book. I can't lie to her. She probably already knows I'm hiding something and she's been kind enough to give me time to figure my shit out. You don't have all the details, but the main point is that I thought she was in danger and I was ready to sacrifice everything to save her. Even though she doesn't need me saving her, she's strong by herself," Allie rambles. "But now, she's oversea and I can't really tell her by phone, it just seems… wrong. And a very bad idea."

She sighs. She isn't sure why the teenager doesn't kick her away during those strange meetings that they have, during which she rants and speaks of nonsense. Maybe she's a better storyteller than she thinks she is. Or maybe the other girl really needs the distraction. Either way, Allie doesn't mind.

"She told me she likes me," she daydreams with a grin on her face. "It makes it even harder now. I'm scared, you know? I'm scared that - that she won't like me anymore. Because, well, I like her, obviously."

Allie pauses. She expects the girl to get up and leave now that she's talking about a subject as dangerous as _emotional attachment_ , but it hasn't happened before, and it doesn't look like it's happening today either.

Allie nods to herself. She might be talking impulsively, but she thinks of every single word she says, and she consciously tries to not scare the other girl away.

"I'm terrified, really, that she won't like me anymore and then I won't know what to do with myself."

She knows, she's certain that the girl heard her. The girl heard her admit that she is scared, loud and clear, and Allie knows that this is a small victory itself.

When she was living in the streets, she thought fear was inexistent. No one ever admitted when they were scared of something because that was a sign of weakness, and weakness was what got you killed. So Allie had learned to shut down her feelings, unaware of the devastating consequences of such actions.

She hopes that she can teach the girl that it's okay to be scared, that it's normal.

"I'm scared because this woman, she has superpowers. She makes everything better. She makes my life a glorious mess rather than just an ordinary, boring mess, you know? She makes it easier to live."

So, _so_ much easier. The kind of easy that Allie hadn't known existed until she met Bea.

Life is always hard, but sometimes, she thinks, you meet just the right people to make it easier every day.

"What do you think I should do?" Allie asks.

She listens to the air and the sounds of the cars.

"You're right, I need to get over this. I need to get my shit together and tell her," Allie hums approvingly. She casts a look at the girl again. She thinks she sees her mouth open a little, but there's no sound coming out of it. "It's important to tell the truth. You can't have a relationship based on lies."

Allie stops talking for a second, as someone drops a coin in the hat. She tries to ignore the feeling of déjà vu that washes over her. Not so long ago, she was the one collecting coins. These meetings are confronting her to herself and she isn't sure if she likes it or not.

"Anyway, that what's on my mind these days. I wish you never have to deal with that situation. If you find someone you like, communicate. Don't make a mistake like I did. And you're probably wondering why I'm telling all of this."

She smiles, even though no one is looking at her.

"It's nice to talk to you. You probably don't believe me and you're wondering why in the world I would stop here and just tell you all about my life. I wouldn't believe me if I were you," Allie chuckles. "I'd probably think I'm a lunatic too. I assure you I'm not."

She looks at her hand for a moment.

"Like I told you, I've been at your place. And I know that you're not me, but a part of me understands a part of you."

In her past visits here, she'd spoken a little about her own past, about her own story, so the girl wouldn't start thinking that she was trying to rob her or gain her trust to recruit her in a human trafficking scheme.

She told her how long she'd been in the streets. She told her how long it took before she gave up on the hope that someone would rescue her. She told her about all the unhealthy ways she coped with the emptiness, but without too many details. She told her briefly about Marie and Bea, and how one was the worst kind of love while the other was the very best.

But she never told her why she was kicked out of her home in the first place. And she never told her about her expectations from these meetings.

"You're always alone when I come here," she says softly. "And you stopped telling me to leave you alone. It suggests that you don't mind when I'm here."

She takes a deep breath.

"In all honesty, I'm hoping that I can help you."

She thinks she sees the girl's posture stiffening and Allie knows that she's seconds away from being told to leave because she made a mistake. A mistake that she should have known not to make.

"You don't need help, do you?" Allie asks, fixing the bleeding wound as best as she can. "I bet you never do. I bet you're tough and you believe that whatever life throws at you, you can take it."

Allie pretends to punch the air in front of her. She looks to her side and, finding no reaction from the teenager, starts slicing the empty space before her with an imaginary sword.

"And let me guess," Allie says, still stabbing invisible monsters, "you don't care about anyone either? So my story about this woman I care about probably didn't do anything for you. You probably thought 'what an idiot for liking someone', am I right?"

She receives no answer, but she knows what the girl must be thinking.

She knows exactly what her younger self would have thought.

"Asking for help in this world is just as bad as admitting when you're scared," Allie says convincingly, like she believes these words too. "And the worst-case scenario is to like someone, to care for someone on a deeper level, right? That's the moment you're screwed, isn't it?"

The girl doesn't reply, and Allie doesn't insist.

"I used to believe that."

It had been easy to pretend like she didn't care, to act like she didn't care, and to scream it out loud for the world to hear.

It had been hell to try to control her real feelings.

"I use to live by those beliefs and I never admitted when I was scared, or when I needed help. And I never, ever fell in love because the one time I did, everything fell apart. But I was so fucking wrong."

She knows the girl heard the truth.

It's okay to be wrong too.

"There are some horrible things in this world. There are some people who are going to laugh at you when you're scared. And some who will kick you in the face instead of helping you up. And some who will betray you so deeply that you'll wish you were dead instead."

She thinks of Bea.

"And there are some who will make your fears go away, help you become the best version of yourself. And love? Love is good. You can try to convince yourself that it's stupid and worthless, and a waste of energy as long as you can, but it'll take much less time, much less efforts to just accept that it's good."

Love has the power to create gods out of mortals. It can break someone's soul and heal it, just as fast. It defies the laws of science and it transforms someone to the best version of themselves, or the worst. Either way, it's powerful enough to trigger that change.

She stops talking, giving herself a few minutes to think about the way she believes in those words now.

She thinks of what she just shared. It'd felt right. It'd felt like she was making a difference. She likes it.

She wants to give herself a high five, but she doesn't want to celebrate too early, nor does she want to look like she's gone insane in front of the teenager.

"I think that's enough for today, right?" Allie smiles. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just throw all of this at you. I guess what I mean is… I'm here. If you need to talk. And if you want me to go, that's fine too. But you haven't said so, so I'm assuming we're becoming the best of friends!"

The girl snorts and Allie's smile grows bigger.

Allie gets up and winces at the way her back aches. Her speech took longer than she'd planned, and she's no longer used to leaning against hard brick walls for long hours.

She takes a glance at the girl, who's still looking down. She sighs and takes a step away. These things take time, she tells herself. She can't just expect an answer simply because sh –

"You're gay?"

She stops in her tracks and slowly turns around, like she's dreaming all of this. She doesn't see anything different when she looks back at the girl, who's still staring down, immobile and seemingly lost in her thoughts.

"Yeah. I am," Allie breathes out, sending a small anchor to the girl lost in the storm of her life.

The stranger looks like she's about to say something, but she doesn't. She nods once, and goes back to being invisible.

Allie frowns and then, all at once, understands.

Allie _sees_ her for the first time.

* * *

At first, they think that they found the perfect solution to beat the distance and the time difference that tries so hard to destroy them.

A few phone calls here, a few videocalls there, a few _I miss you_ and a few _I care about you_. Sometimes, they sing together, shyness gone out of the window, and they laugh until they can't breathe anymore. Sometimes, they quietly get lost in each other's eyes and they try not to blink for as long as they can.

It is enough for a moment. It feels great and amazing, and like every call they make brings them closer. It feels like they are always connected, always together in some way.

But of course, it doesn't last.

The magic of their first _I like you_ doesn't last.

If anything, it makes everything more awful because Allie is trapped in Australia, and Bea is stuck in a foreign land, and these words are uniting to create a broken ladder reaching from one continent to another.

As the number of days they spend apart piles up, time stretches more, moves slower than ever before. And eventually, it feels like every day is eternal, like they are stuck in a cycle that will never end.

Bea wakes up when Allie gets ready to sleep. Bea lives in a restless world, where alarms are blaring every second, where codes are being screamed by the powerful lungs of nurses and doctors, and where everything reminds her of the tragic events that are occurring around her. Allie lives in a slow-paced world, where walks become marathons when she's lost in her dreams, where people speaks in low tones in public spaces, and where everything is summer and bright and full of life.

And paradoxically, every call they have is not long enough, passes by at lightspeed and leaves no trace behind, except for a permanent feeling of longing. Every minute becomes a second, and it doesn't matter if they just look at each other without saying a single word, the end of the call still reaches them too quickly.

It's always the same, and it's always a different kind of heartbreak everyday.

Time is a bitch when it obeys the rules of subjective perception.

Little by little, they notice all the subtle ways that distance exists between them, and every day, it bothers them more than the previous one.

The video lags, the image is blurry, the sound isn't clear enough for them to decrypt what the other is saying. The internet connection cuts, the call is interrupted, the moment is ruined. It didn't bother them at first, because they could somehow still believe that they were both at the same place together. But now, every line across the screen, every misplaced pixel, every miscalculated lapse of time reminds them that the other is not really _here_.

Little by little, calling each other stops being enough.

Little by little, the feeling that they're connected stops existing.

Little by little, they miss each other so much that the only cure would be for them to find each other's arms again.

They're broken and they don't quite realize it until it's too late.

They're broken, and they don't quite know why until they figure it out.

Distance? Distance is easy to conquer with the proper technology.

Loneliness? Loneliness isn't.

* * *

"I miss you," Allie says as soon as Bea's face appears on her screen.

"I miss you," Bea whispers the second Allie's blue eyes focus on hers.

They don't talk. They don't have anything to say today, and Allie sees the way Bea's eyes are closing already. She doesn't have to ask to know that Debbie isn't awake yet, and that Bea is reaching record levels of exhaustion. As much as she wants to look at Bea's eyes and drown in the chocolate shade, she doesn't want to keep her awake any longer.

"Sleep. I'll be watching over you," she offers gently.

"Are you sure?"

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

There are a million thank you's haunting Bea's eyes before she closes them and rests her head on the back of the wall behind her. Her head is heavy and her heart is pleading for mercy, and soon, sleep pities her and takes her away to the land of untold dreams.

Bea falls asleep under Allie's caring gaze and she sleeps better than she has in weeks. She dreams of steady arms holding her and soft lips brushing against hers. She dreams of clouds that look like seahorses and wishes that sound like prophecies.

When she wakes up, she has a lump in her throat and a shiny new scar on her heart when she realizes her screen is completely black and Allie is gone.

* * *

"I miss you," Bea chokes on the words when the call connects her to her distant hero.

"I miss you," Allie replies, heart aching while it's being twisted by the universe's cruel tools.

Bea feels a tear in the corner of her eyes and she fights so it doesn't fall.

Allie does the same, and she fails, and when she pretends to have dust in her eyes, Bea feels more powerless than she's ever been before.

They talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

Bea has breakfast and Allie has dinner, and Bea is wide awake while Allie is yawning every two minutes, and everything feels awfully wrong with the way one is getting ready for the day while the other is about to rest for the night. They shouldn't be living in opposite worlds, in opposite times.

They should be living in harmony, falling asleep next to each other and waking up all tangled up in each other's arms.

They try to stay together for as long as they can until Allie needs to leave, and when Bea says goodbye, it leaves another bruise on her soul, another laceration on her heart and another burn on her conscience.

It hurts more than the time before.

It always does.

* * *

"I miss you," they both say at the same time.

It's agony in its purest form.

They miss each other so much that images aren't enough anymore. Allie moving on her screen isn't enough to make Bea feel better anymore. It feels like she'll spend the rest of her life missing the blonde and she knows that this isn't the kind of life she wants to live. This isn't even a life. This is a nightmare.

She always wakes up with Allie in her mind, but she can never roll over and kiss her, or gently rock her in her arms. Instead, there's only a gap, a hollowness beside and within her.

Debbie's here, still pretending to be Sleeping Beauty, and Bea wishes she could trade places with her daughter, just for a few minutes, just so she can remember what it feels like not to miss someone the way she does.

She places her head in the palms of her hands and sighs deeply.

She wants to go wherever Allie is, because Allie is the only thing she's sure of. With the unknown fate of her daughter, and the uncertainties surrounding her job, and the fears about the future, Allie is the only constant, the only weight to ground her when she's stuck in the midst of a tornado.

It helps that they talk every day, but it doesn't mean it stops hurting.

Sometimes, Bea wonders if it would be easier to stop the calls, to stop the videos and the conversations altogether. That way, she wouldn't have to feel her insides being smashed every time they say goodbye.

And other times, she thinks that she can't stop. She can't stop calling Allie, just like she can't stop telling her indirectly that she loves her, by using any other expression or sentences. She can't stop being impatient whenever she knows her phone will ring soon. She can't stop longing and hoping, wanting and craving more of Allie.

She can't tell her heart to put her feelings on pause until Allie comes back, no matter how much she wishes she could.

Feelings have a mind of their own and Bea can't control them.

"How are you?" she asks.

"I miss you," Allie repeats like these are the only words that make sense in her crazy life.

"We've been through worse," Bea smiles sadly. "We'll make it through this too."

They've been through worse, yes.

Bea's been through the toxic ramifications of domestic violence and has managed to get out.

Allie's been taken hostage by the barbarous human trafficking organizations that rule the streets and has survived.

But they didn't know each other at that time. They didn't know what they were missing and so they didn't have this kind of pain to deal with. And sure, they went through hell and back together shortly after they met each other…

But they were _together._

And now they're not, they are the opposite of _together_ , and Bea can't touch Allie, can't hold her and make all her worries go away. She can only use words, but words are tricky. They work both ways. They mean one thing and then another, and they can be misunderstood, misused. They're sweet and dangerous, and they can heal and kill in the same breath.

"We'll make it through," Allie repeats, her thoughts hurling in her head.

What if Debbie never wake up? Will Bea leave her here, on this island full of abandoned dreams?

The lack of conviction in Allie's words steals another layer of hope from their souls.

* * *

"I made something for you," Allie declares when they call other for what seems like the umpteen time.

She tries to break the never-ending cycle of starting conversations with _I miss you_ , but it barely works as the words have a mind of their own and still dig their way into both women's heart. They still feel the unspoken words shake their cores and move mountains around them. _I miss you_ will never be gone until they're back safely in each other's arms. It's part of their lives now, whether they want it or not.

Even when they're in a call, in a video call, in any sort of conversation, they miss each other. Even when they're right there together, eyes locked and smiles lighting up the world, they miss each other.

Allie thinks back to all those times she'd wish Bea would tell her that she missed her. Now, she'd give anything at all to banish those words because it just reminds her of how much they are both suffering from the distance.

A bit more time and they'll have to live with permanent scars from this long-distance bullshit, Allie thinks.

The connection is good enough today so that they can see each other clearly, but still blurry enough so that they can't pretend like they're physically in the same room.

Allie's smile falters and twists when her heart, once joyful and tender, gets a little colder at the sight of Bea. It always aches, always bends, but never fully breaks, as if it was trying to torture Allie rather than send her directly to her death.

It's worse than death.

It's worse than withdrawal. She would go through a dozen withdrawals right now if it meant Bea would magically be by her side.

It's worse than any type of rejection, any type of heartbreak, and Allie doesn't know how she can speak and breathe without turning to dust.

At least, death ends. Withdrawal ends. Rejection, heartbreaks, they're devastating, but they end.

This? This does not end. It's a constant feeling of longing, of missing, of being half of a whole.

And it's not that they depend on each other. It's not that they cannot live, cannot breathe without one another, even if it sometimes feels like it. It's not like the whole universe stops moving and time stills, and the bare concepts of life and death stop making sense to them.

They don't depend on each other, and they can live, and breathe, and exist in a world where they aren't together. Of course, they can.

But it's painful, and Torture with a capital T, and it makes them feel like they're star-crossed lovers learning to live in this lost cause of a life that is their own.

"What did you do again?" Bea smiles, shadows growing under her eyes and fatigue draped over her shoulders in a permanent embrace.

"You'll love it," Allie replies convincingly, pulling a small frame out of a bag next to her.

It's the picture Allie tore apart when she was fighting demons and slashing monsters with her mind, that one night she spent at the shelter with Bea. It's the picture that fell into dozen pieces on the floor, long forgotten by Bea's tired mind. It's the picture of Bea and Debbie, both smiling like life is a beautiful, ethereal thing.

It's glued back together in a way that transforms the once destroyed picture into a piece of art, lines not really connecting, but still fitting greatly with one another. The magic irradiating from the picture is back, and it shoots through the screen to reach a starstruck Bea.

"H- How?" Bea stutters, remembering the time the picture was taken. It was under a lovely blue sky, and the candid smiles had been immortalized by a distant friend she doesn't talk to anymore. She moves her hand up, as if she wanted to get a hold of the frame, but she puts it back down when she remembers she can't.

Frustration strikes like lightning and she remains electrocuted by the broken beauty of this moment.

"I have my secrets," Allie winks.

"I thought you forgot about it," Bea admits.

"Never."

Allie looks down embarrassingly.

"I don't remember much from that night," she confesses. "I remember the pain. I remember wishing I was dead. I remember you were there. That's all. I imagine you remember a lot more than I do, and it's probably not pretty. It was probably awful for you, and I don't think I've ever apologized properly for putting you through this."

"You never needed to."

Allie shrugs, wishing she didn't have to have this conversation online.

"I did. It wasn't fair to ask you to do this for me. It isn't much, but it's something I can do to repay you."

"You really didn't have to," Bea repeats.

"And you didn't have to help me, but you did," Allie retorts. "Now stop saying that or we will never get out of this conversation."

She places the frame next to her after Bea gawks at it a few more minutes.

"It's perfect. You're perfect, you really are," Bea declares softly and emotionally.

Allie has never been anything less than perfect for her, she believes.

And maybe it's the picture, maybe it's the frame, maybe it's the way Allie is looking at her like she knows just how much this means to her, but something in the air chases the blur away, and everything comes into focus.

The way something, _someone_ is applying pressure against her skin.

Debbie. Debbie's hand is moving, and even though it is a small, weak movement, Bea feels it like an earthquake pulverizing every inch of her body, and suddenly, the distance, the longing, the pain that came with it, it's all gone because her daughter is finally _moving_.

Suddenly, all the waiting makes sense.

Suddenly, all the mistakes are forgiven.

Suddenly, the past is the past and the future opens before her eyes.

Tears fill her eyes and Bea suffocates on the words she can't pronounce, can't free out of her throat.

Allie understands all at once and she screams for her, and Bea doesn't know what to do with all this _love._

She's never had so much love before and she can't hold it, can't keep it, and she's petrified with fear that she's going to lose it.

"This is why I – "

She shuts her lips together.

 _This is why I love you._

She can't say the words.

She said the words to Harry once and he turned to a monster.

She said the words to Debbie and she overdosed.

She's terrified of what might have happen if she says those words to Allie, so she decides she won't say anything.

"This is why I need you," she whispers.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading :) If you're going to SSE events, have fun! If you're going to Wentworth Con, maybe we will unknowingly cross paths.**


	15. You just try your best not to get hurt

**Title's song comes from "Older" by Sasha Sloan. Had a bit of a hard time picking a song for that chapter because so many things happen! I stole a scene from the show again and I adapted it, so hopefully you'll like it.**

 **The next chapter is going to take a while before I let it out in the wild so bear with me.**

* * *

 **Chapter 15: You just try your best not to get hurt**

Debbie doesn't say a word when she opens her eyes.

The lights burn her retinas and blurred shapes lean down over her. Her world is spinning and her mind is confused, and she feels like she's been asleep for a million years, long enough for her to wake up to the absence of civilization itself.

She doesn't say anything when the lines come into focus, when the sounds quieten down a little, and when the colors stop twirling with one another. She becomes vaguely aware that she's lying on a bed, and that she isn't being thrown around like a puppet by the currents of a violent tornado.

She remains silent when her conscience becomes clearer and when she starts wondering where she is. She wonders why there's this aggressive beeping in her ears and why she has a tube in her throat. She notices she's surrounded by machines and white walls, and she's afraid for a moment that this is a terrible version of the afterlife.

She stares blankly as the face of her mother appears before her eyes, features spoiled by a mix of fear, relief and something else she can't decipher. Her mother. She's here, by her side, with a smile that looks forced and genuine at the same time, and with her energy charging the air with so many emotions at the same time that Debbie can barely feel them all.

Love? Anger? Disappointment? Bliss? Maybe even a trace of despair. But why?

She doesn't reply when her mother says her name with urgency in her voice, when her hand is being squeezed so hard that it hurts, or when her thoughts start running through her head faster than she can process them.

She couldn't reply even if she wanted to. The tube prevents her to do so.

That is, until an unknown man reaches for it with what seems like a pair of ginormous hands and pulls it out her throat. She chokes for a moment, thinks she's going to die again within her own swollen skin and dripping saliva, but she takes a breath a second later, and the ache when her chest rises reminds her that she is very much alive.

She closes her eyes again and the next moment, her mother is holding her like she's made of glass, throwing questions at her without waiting for answers. She opens her eyes and her mother is still holding her, fingers delicately running through her dirty hair.

"Talk to me?"

She keeps her lips glued together. She's trying to think of the right words to say, of the right things to ask because she knows that she won't be able to speak for long.

Her memory is broken, with puzzle pieces scattered inside her brain all over the place. What was she doing before she came here? How did she come here? Why is her mom so dramatic? She vaguely remembers falling asleep next to her boyfriend, but that's all.

Her boyfriend. What were they doing? Where is he? Why is her head so painful?

She's so fucking exhausted and everything is made of pain.

Could drugs take it all away? Is it too early to wish for that?

* * *

She still hasn't said anything a few days later, when everything abruptly rushes back to her mind and fires deathly shots all over her heart.

An empty room in a cabin after the party is over and the others have gone to sleep. A door that is quickly locked behind them as they kiss and laugh, and dance around the room in oblivion. A bottle of beer that falls on the floor as they shove each other on the bed, slightly drunk, too young and too old, and too lost to care about the consequences of this fateful night because, in this moment, they are immortal.

Her voice, slurring words that she only lets out when she can't control her inhibitions. Tales of a damaged childhood and of a future that keeps slipping away from her every time she thinks she's reached it. Legends of perfect families, opposites of the one she grew up in. False ideas of what it would have been to have grown in one of them. Guilt and shame that she can't appreciate what her parents did for her despite the toxic rain pouring on them for years and decades.

Brayden's voice whispering that it will be alright, that they will both reach greater heights together and float in the air, wild and free. His hand reaching for hers, pulling it toward him to extend her arm. His eyes, kind and reassuring, like there is nothing to fear, like she can trust him with her life. His fingers brushing her skin as he ties a tourniquet around her arm and tightens it. His movements, sure and confident, like he's done it many times before.

His smirk, charming and playful, making her believe that this is just a game and that she needs to live to the fullest before she gets dragged back to her homeland. His light push to make her fall back on the bed when she tries to sit up, and the spark of doubt that is born in her chest, only to disappear when he presses his lips on her forehead, hovering over her a few seconds too many.

The needle, sharp and shining, and already full of a liquid that she knows can make all her dreams come true. The way it pierces her skin and the way it stings, not just her arm, but also her soul. The way Brayden waits to see blood in the syringe before he pushes the plunger.

The rush. The dizziness. The euphoria. The heaviness. The explosions. The tranquility. The absence of pain.

The moment she was awake and the moment she was falling in darkness.

The moment everything stopped.

She blinks many times, trying to make sense of it all, trying to decode all those memories.

She doesn't say anything when her mother asks her what's wrong.

She just swallows difficulty like it's too hard to face the truth, like maybe her mind is so far gone from a bad trip that it's creating lies and parallel universes in its madness.

She lets her mother hold her, care for her, reunite with her. She wonders if her mother still loves her, if the unconditional maternal love is as real as they say. She thinks that it must be, for her mother is right there by her side. Her mother hasn't left ever since she opened her eyes again and found herself in limbo between her past and future life.

"Talk to me?" Bea asks, like she does every day.

Her mother is really here, in the States.

Her mother crossed the ocean for her, found a way to reach her.

Debbie wonders if this is too early.

Or too late.

* * *

She doesn't speak until she has to, days later, when the doctor demands answers or he'll have her admitted to the psych ward. She refused to be stuck there and drugged with pills that aren't the right ones.

She doesn't look at her mother when she answers with _yes_ and _no_ and _maybe._

She doesn't want to see the heartbreak she knows she'll find in her mother's eyes. She doesn't want to see the love. The love that her mother keeps giving her despite everything that is happening in their lives. The love that is fundamentally unbreakable, but that is still cracked and damaged in some parts.

She may not want to see the love, but she feels it when her mother gently brushes her hair away from her face and places soft kisses on her forehead. It doesn't feel like Brayden's kisses. It feels different, lighter, gentler, and her mom doesn't hover above her like a threatening shadow, she just holds her carefully.

Every kiss chases the darkness and fights the demons, and she's left breathless, hugging back her mother with a desperate need to be a young child again, to be back to that age where nothing mattered and where pain could be fixed with a smile and a kiss and a piece of cake.

She expects her mother to move away when the doctor leaves the room, to shoot questions at her again, to yell at her that it's about damn time that she speaks. But none of this happens. Her mom just stays right where she is, squeezing her tightly like she's afraid Debbie might be gone if she lets go.

Debbie doesn't let go either.

Maybe, it wasn't too late after all.

* * *

Her father is calling.

Debbie sees it in her mother's eyes when the phone vibrates.

Her mother usually rushes to her phone, nearly dropping it while she tries to answer it. It happens a lot, and she always puts on a bashful smile while she struggles to say a single word to Allie. She tries to act like she isn't a complete embarrassment for herself, and Debbie has grown to ignore the childish conversations she has to witness every day.

She's relieved, at least, to have woken up and found that Allie is still around, whatever that means for the future days. Judging by the conversations her mother is having, Allie will be sharing their apartment. She thinks she can forgive this intrusion because Allie puts a smile in her mother's face every single time they talk.

But this time, when the phone rings, there's no joy in her mother's eyes and no enthusiasm in her posture, and just a cold, glacial dead stare as Bea analyzes the number displayed on her screen. Only one person in the world can be responsible for that change of demeanor, and Debbie knows it's her father, and she wonders if her mother will answer, like she always does.

Bea doesn't. She throws a dirty look at the phone and just ignores it as it rings and rings, and finally stops.

Then it beeps, signaling Bea that she has received a new text message, and curiosity gets the best of her. She leans forward, reading the words on her screen and frowns.

Debbie stares silently at all the ways Bea acts differently.

She doesn't know anything, except that something's changed.

Something or everything.

"Your father wants to accuse me of breaking and entering into our own garage," Bea declares. "He's even more of a lunatic than I thought."

* * *

Debbie may not speak, but she listens and she learns more than she has in months.

And Bea talks a lot, way more than before. Debbie is told everything, from the most irrelevant detail about Allie, to the most important information regarding whatever Bea is going through at the moment. The filter that once existed between them is gone.

Debbie likes this. She likes that there's no more room for secrets and half-whispered promises.

Her mother leaves the room to speak on the phone, to someone Debbie can't identify.

When she comes back, Debbie knows to be ready to listen.

"I'm pushing for a divorce," Bea declares. "If he won't sign, I'll get it by force. I have a solid reason to ask for a divorce, no judge in their right mind would ever refuse it."

Debbie holds her mother's eyes with her own, refusing to look away.

"Your father thinks I went to the garage and did something to his car," Bea continues. "Which is stupid because I was here with you. And even if I did, it's still _our_ house, legally, so I am within my rights to go there and do anything I want. But he doesn't have any proof that anyone was there. My lawyer says there's no way I'll be charged with this."

Debbie swallows difficultly, thinking of another person beside her mother who could have been reckless enough to break into their house. She doesn't say anything.

"I would file for custody if I could, but you're an adult now. You know what that means," Bea says soberly. "The choice is yours. I can't force you. I can't restrain you. I can't physically stop you, but you know damn well which choice is better."

Debbie _knows._ She knows more than she ever has because she can _see._

 _See_ that her father isn't by her side and that he's still refusing to give Bea her freedom.

 _See_ that Brayden is nowhere to be found.

 _See_ that her mother is the only one here, the only one who refuses to leave no matter how hard she pushes her away.

Debbie smiles sadly. The words she wants to scream are unable to find their way out of her throat.

* * *

"We're leaving soon," Bea announces when she comes back to the room after a quick meeting with the doctor. "You're getting discharged in a few days. You're not staying here."

Debbie nods, letting the words make their way into her brain. She feels better, more awake and alive than she has felt in a while, even though there's a lingering emptiness in her chest where her heart should be.

Brayden never came.

He didn't come visit her, didn't send a message, didn't even send a friend. And her friends, they were Brayden's friends first, and they never showed up. Could it be just a cruel coincidence? Have they replaced her already? Have they forgotten her? Was she really just an ephemeral shadow in their group? She's always known that she would never have the same importance as Brayden, but she'd never thought they'd be so quick at pretending that she never existed.

"Talk to me?" Her mother asks, hopeful and hopeless at the same time.

Debbie wants to.

She wants to say something, to proclaim her truth, loud and clear for the world to hear, but she's scared. She's scared that she won't sound confident, that she won't sound strong, that she won't ever have that voice that was so uniquely hers. She's scared that the words won't come out right, that she won't say what she means, and that she'll somehow push her mother away for good.

She's shaking her head and trembling like a leaf when her mother's hand lands on her arm.

"Do you hate me?" she whispers with a raspy voice, eyes widening as she realizes what she's just said.

 _Do you hate me?_

These are the last words she expected to say because they are a reflection of her deepest fear. She'd thought she'd say _hi_ or _hello_ or _mom_ , literally anything but this loaded question that could be the end of her. She'd just stayed silent for so long, trying to figure out exactly how to have a conversation with her mother, and now she feels like this has all gone to waste.

She really does wonder if her mother hates her, and the possibility that the answer might be _yes_ breaks her. They have had their differences, they fought, they hurt, but they're still connected.

"Oh, my sweet little girl," Bea sighs loudly, unable to believe that her daughter is finally speaking.

Finally speaking to ask her this tragic, horrible question.

"I will never hate you," she answers, tears dancing on the edge of her eyes, "I love you to the moon and back, remember? Always."

Bea had almost forgotten the sound of Debbie's voice, and to have it back, to cherish it again, it makes her feel nothing but pride for this young woman lying in front of her. She never wants to go through this again, never wants to spend so much time without having a conversation with her daughter. It hurts too much.

A thought crosses her mind.

Has she failed so hard that her daughter sincerely believes that they are connected by hatred rather than love now?

And if that's how it is, how does she fix it? How does she make Debbie believe that she loves her, that she has never stopped loving her?

"Is that why you're here and – " Debbie stops, grips the sheets in her fists with the small amount of strength she can gather.

 _And Brayden isn't?_

"I'm here because there's nowhere else I'd rather be," Bea replies heartfeltly, her hand cupping Debbie's cheek affectively.

"You don't hate me? Even if I listened to… Even if dad…" Debbie's voice slows and becomes one with the air around them.

Bea imagines the worst immediately. How could she not, after what just happened?

"Dad told me that it would be fine," Debbie admits, feeling smaller than she's ever been. "He said that Brayden – "

She shakes her head weakly when she pronounces the name of a man, a boy, she knows she won't see again. She can feel her heart cracking again, shattering slowly under the weight of something she'll come to identify as her first heartbreak.

"He said Brayden would keep me safe if he really loved me."

It's the truth. She did talk to her father about it, about the pills, and the alcohol, and the distant possibility that she'd shoot heroin in her veins. She did ask him what he thought of it all, and he did say that she was young and experimenting, and that it was all part of life. She did ask him if it was safe, and he did say yes, he did encourage her while he was himself holding his fifth bottle of beer in his hands.

But these words are all excuses.

She wanted it, the heroin. She made that choice willingly, under the destructive influence of addiction.

It wasn't her father's choice. Her father could have said the same thing that her mother did, could have told her to stop hanging out with Brayden, and Debbie knows pertinently that she wouldn't have listened to him.

Her father was a mere pawn in the entirety of her plan to self-destruct. Just like her mother.

It was addiction, the main player, the one lover and the one nemesis all at once.

"Dad never came here, right?" she asks.

"No. I told him not to. He threatened me to death."

Debbie looks down, ashamed, understanding and gutted to learn that he hasn't changed at all, even today.

Her last shred of hope gently detaches from her mind and flies away.

"I'm angry," Bea smiles sadly, volcanoes exploding under the calm surface of her skin. "I'm beyond furious, and I don't understand why you would ask your father, and I don't understand why you trusted drugs, and I don't understand why you would do this to yourself."

She pauses, struggling to keep her tone even, to stay in control of her emotions when all she wants is to shake her daughter, to force the answers out of her weakened body.

"And I'm angry with myself because I didn't stop you," Bea adds. "And I don't understand why I didn't run head first here right after you were gone again. I don't understand why I didn't race to the airport and stop the plane with my bare hands. I don't understand how I let this happen."

She's not naïve. She knows that the hospital treated the physical symptoms of the overdose. She knows her daughter has a disease, one that won't just disappear once they leave the hospital. She knows there's a long road to go towards sobriety.

"But I'm not going to let it happen twice," she declares like a promise. "And if I have to fight with you everyday, I will. And if I have to go to court and punch a judge to get a divorce, and land in prison, I will. And if I have to find every last drug on this planet and destroy them myself, I will."

She swears on her own life that she will do it. She will keep her daughter safe, no matter what it costs.

"Do you believe me now?" Bea nearly begs. "Do you believe me when I say that you need to stop seeing your father, and this Brayden too. You _need_ to."

She sees more openness in Debbie's eyes than ever before, but there's still an everlasting trace of hesitation in Debbie's body language.

She can't believe that her daughter is still struggling to see the truth.

"I love dad," Debbie answers simply with a fragile voice. "And I'm – I'm in love with Brayden."

Debbie frowns, tasting the words and the way they feel inside her mouth.

Poisonous. Disgusting. True.

She wishes they weren't true. She wishes they were lies and that she hated them both instead. It'd be so much easier to let them go, to turn her back forever.

"I know you did, I know you do," Bea exhales loudly. "I know how it is to fall for the wrong person, Debbie. I did it. I fell for him, and I gave him too many chances, and I believed him, and you? You have a chance not to make the same mistakes I made. Don't give another chance to someone who doesn't deserve it. This man, Brayden, he got you to take drugs. Heroin. Do you not see how wrong this is? Do you not see that this isn't something you do to the person you love? This isn't something you do, to anyone!"

Debbie nods and listens, like she's done these past few days.

She's become a talented listener.

The question isn't whether she'll listen or not, it's about what she'll do with the words she is given.

"Your father loves you too," Bea admits even though she wants to throw up. "He never touched you, never hurt you directly, you're right. And you're smart. You're incredibly smart, but you forgot something."

Debbie hears the words before her mother pronounces them, and she knows she will never go to her father again.

"He never hurt you, but he never protected you either. And he still doesn't! And maybe when you were young, you truly loved him, but today, as you are?" Bea shakes her head in a dejected motion. "Tell me, do you love him today?"

 _No._

Debbie, the small child with eyes full of innocence and the future shining bright before her, loves her father, admires him like any child would.

But Debbie, the adult with the scarred eyes and the troubled past, doesn't.

She loved him then, and she hates him now, and she took way too long figuring out which of her feelings belonged to the present, and which were part of the past. And Debbie knows that she cannot keep switching from one to another. She wishes she could, but she must choose. She must choose to stop putting her mother's life on the line every time she meets with her father.

"What will it take for you to understand?" Bea asks softly, "There may not be a next time, Deb. This may be your only chance."

The unspoken words remain still between them for a while.

Next time, Bea might be crying over a lifeless body rather than her daughter.

"I'm sorry," Debbie lets out with a lone sob.

And she really is. For everything. For everything she cannot say, and everything she cannot do.

She really means it and it frees her from a weigh that she had been wearing for years.

Bea kisses her head gently.

She thinks that this time, it's really different.

"I want you with me, Deb. I'm not leaving you anymore."

* * *

The words come in the middle of the night, when Bea is packing her last bag and she thinks Debbie is navigating in deep sleep.

"Mom?"

Bea glances at her daughter, savoring the way there is life swirling in her eyes.

"Yes, love?"

Debbie licks her dry lips and smiles tentatively.

"I want to be with you too."

* * *

" _Mom?!" she shrieks, unable to believe that her own mother would treat her this way._

 _Her mother just looks away, words trapped in another dimension._

" _Dad?" she asks as the weight of the situation starts to dawn on her._

" _Get out. We tried. We really did," her father's emotionless voice resonates in the empty street._

 _And she wants to scream that no, they didn't try. They didn't change. They didn't do anything. They're just like before and she regrets ever coming back here because she should have known from the very first time that they would never accept her. She should have known better instead of letting them break her again because now, she doesn't think she'll ever recover._

" _But I- I love you," she stammers, somehow believing that this is going to fix everything. "I want you."_

 _Her father looks disgusted and her mother is still staring away._

" _That's a shame. No one will ever want you," her father says, closing the door to her face, sealing her fate._

 _She waits a minute, thinking that the door will open again and that they will beg for her forgiveness and realize that they can't just throw their daughter out in the streets like that._

 _She waits an hour for the curtains to open, for her mother's face to appear behind the window, ashamed and guilty._

 _She waits until it's late and she knows it's definitive this time, unlike the first time when they kicked her out for being a lesbian._

 _This time, they're not going to change their mind._

 _Allie cries this time._

 _It's the last time she'll ever cry for them._

* * *

"No one will ever want you."

Allie pauses and glances at the girl she just sat next to. There's no reaction from her whatsoever. If anything, she looks even more bored than the previous minute. As if she could read Allie's thoughts about her, she yawns and closes her eyes, and Allie rolls her eyes to the sky.

There'd been zero progression ever since the girl had asked if she was gay. Nothing, not even a casual 'hello' or 'goodbye' at the beginning or the end of their conversations. There'd been no questions asked, no answers requested, no signs of interest coming from the teenager. It had surprised Allie at first, because she'd thought that she was finally reaching under the girl's solid carapace, and then she'd remembered her own life, and everything had made sense again.

Questions were valuable in the streets. They had to be short, clear, and meaningful because you rarely got a second chance if you messed up. Information was priceless, and powerful, tracing the boundaries between life and death, and not everyone was privileged enough to afford asking many questions. You had to give something of fair value in exchange for a fair answer. Not everyone was part of the same inner circle.

Allie is no fool. The teenager might appear young, but perhaps she'd been out there for years, plenty of time for her to remember the unwritten rules of this wasted kingdom.

"That's what my dad said to me the last time I saw him. Mom just watched, so it's like she said the same thing. They didn't say 'take care of you' or 'I love you' or 'come back if life is hard', you know? They just said that no one would ever want me and then they slammed the door to my face."

Today, she's decided, is the day she'll spill her heart to that teenager. Not because she wants the girl to open up to her, but because her guts are telling her that this is a necessary step to take.

It doesn't matter much to her. She's done it many times, with many strangers, and at some point, the story had stopped sounding so personal to her. It'd started to be like a tale, something that had happened to someone else, in another land far from here.

Eventually, she'd convinced herself that it had all been a dream, that this betrayal had been a product of her imagination.

It'd stopped hurting, and it'd changed to something distant, something she couldn't emotionally connect with anymore. It'd become something as mundane as asking someone for the time. But today, she has a feeling it will be different because she has never met someone so young to tell her story to.

Never met a version of herself to talk to until now.

"It all started when I was around your age and I committed a crime," Allie remembers. "I fell in love with a girl."

Some crime it had been.

The crime that would define her for the rest of her life.

She'd fallen in love with a girl who'd made her laugh until she'd cry, who'd made the sky bluer and who'd refused to believe in impossibilities. A girl who'd made the stars appear in the middle of the day. A girl whose words had been stories of their own and whose laughs had carried symphonies from the galaxies far away. A girl who had held the world in her eyes and who had carried love on her shoulders, her heart wide and open for everyone to admire.

Allie had had no chance. She'd fallen for her, hard and fast, and she'd do it all again, if she hadn't met a woman whose presence redefined what it meant to be alive.

"I told them and I didn't think it would be such a terrible thing," Allie narrates. "I'd heard them talk about how they wanted me to find a good guy to marry, but I never paid more attention before. So when I came out, I didn't expect the shitstorm that followed."

She looks at the girl again and she's surprised to see her looking back for the first time. It must be a good sign, she decides.

"They gave me twenty-four hours to change my mind, and then they told me I couldn't live here unless I went to some camp that would fix me. Fix me? Can you believe it?" Allie scoffs. Even today, it all sounds beyond ridiculous.

A stupid camp wouldn't _fix_ her because she wasn't _broken_.

Her heart had simply started to beat harder at the sight of this girl. Her thoughts had become a little messier when she'd thought about love and what it implied. Her mouth had gone a little dry when she'd imagined the next steps of their relationship. Her stress levels had increased when she'd been stuck in the middle of an argument with the one she'd been so scared to lose at that time.

It had all been normal. So normal, that it had been, in fact, boringly normal. It had been the kind of normal that everyone experienced when they fell in love for the first time, and her parents had ruled it as _unnatural_ and _unacceptable_ and _unforgivable._

"I didn't want to and they told me to get out. I asked why and they said that I wasn't their daughter. That they hadn't raised me to be that way. That they couldn't believe I'd betray them like that, because of course, I was the one who betrayed them."

She shakes her head when she remembers.

They'd yelled at her so loud that she'd been surprised the neighbors hadn't called the police. To this day, she's sure that, had she killed someone, her parents would have looked at her with more kindness in their eyes.

"I stayed with her, my girlfriend, you know? For a couple of days. But her parents couldn't afford to keep me so I left. I didn't want to be a burden."

She'd left school too. It had been too painfully obvious that she didn't belong in this pristine world anymore.

"I found myself walking down the streets with a backpack, which was stolen from me a couple days later."

It had been the end of the world for her.

Today, she'd shrug it off. She knows better.

"They welcomed me back a little while later. They searched for me. I think mom felt guilty and she convinced dad to take me in again. It was all a way for them to feel better about themselves. It was never about me," Allie explains. "It was about them. But by the time they took me back, I'd been in the streets for a while so I had my own life. I had a way to make money, I had people I knew I could go see if I needed something. I bet you're wondering what all of that was? My big plan to be rich and have a healthy life?"

She waits in case the girl wants to say something, and when she's met with silence, she continues.

"It started with a cup of coffee. I drank the coffee, and then I used to cup every day to get money from people," she confesses. "A bit like you're doing with that hat of yours, except I didn't have a hat."

She thinks she sees the girl's eyes become a shade darker, like the weight of her situation is once again pressing down on her.

"Then I moved on to another way to make money. I started working as a prostitute. It wasn't the best option, but you know how it is here, you don't have a lot of options, especially without school," Allie states the obvious. "So I did that for a while, and I kept doing it when I got back home, because my parents were still… so cold and so distant, that I needed to be outside the house as much as I could. My parents found out."

Allie laughs like her life is a joke, and maybe it is.

Surely, it must be.

"Of course, they kicked me out again! I mean, they're parents. I don't have kids, and I like to think I'd love them no matter what if I did, but it'd still be a shock to learn that… Anyway, they don't want to think about their daughter having sex, let alone selling herself every night," she says pensively. She throws a glance in the girl's direction and she finds her stare returned still. "But what pissed me off more was that… they didn't ask me to stop. They didn't give me a chance to stop."

She frowns, vague emotions of resentment and anger tingling in her chest.

"They once asked me to stop being a lesbian, which is something I could never do. But they never asked me to stop being a prostitute, which is something I could have changed," Allie says, realizing it as she speaks. "Did they not realize how wrong that was?"

She could have changed that.

She could have never gone back to the streets. She could have found a job that didn't require her to get naked with horny people. She could have settled somewhere nice and pretended like she hadn't just spent the last few months in the streets, playing with the limits of her body and soul. She could have even forgiven her parents for kicking her out the very first time.

But they hadn't asked her to stop selling herself. They'd asked her to stop being who she was.

And she can't get over that, even today.

She sighs, not wanting to let her emotions get the best of her when she's talking with the teenager.

"So I kept going. I lived in an alley for a while before I met someone who gave me a roof. Then I went back to the alley because some things are just not meant to happen."

She pauses and waits, vague images of Marie and all her slaves dancing in her mind. She glances at the girl again and wonders if she's said too much.

Her story is hard to hear, and she knows it.

The girl doesn't seem to react at first, but then, slowly, she opens her mouth like she's about to speak, before she shuts her lips together. She looks like she wants to stay here forever, and at the same time, it seems like she's getting ready to race to the end of the world, and Allie knows that feeling too well to let her struggle alone.

"You tell me if you want me to stop. I'll stop," she declares gently.

But the girl doesn't stop her, and Allie tentatively continues.

"I got out of that alley, eventually. I just did actually," she says, offering a glimpse of hope to the stranger. "I met someone. I was lucky. Not everyone is. But for some twisted reason, I had what it took to survive for so long in the streets. I don't know if it's a quality or a flaw, or just a cruel trick the universe played, but I got out. Ask me how."

She smirks in the girl's direction, half joking, half daring her to ask.

"I knew you'd ask," Allie singsongs despite the absence of an answer. "I don't usually give away my secrets so easily, but because it's you, I'll make an exception. The reason I survived was simple. It wasn't because I found someone to love or because I found drugs, or because – "

The mention of drugs makes the girl frowns in curiosity, and Allie doesn't miss it.

"I took drugs. It wasn't my best decision and I definitely advise you not to get involved with that shit, but I did. It made me blind. It made me a total bitch. It made me someone I wasn't. If someone offers you drugs, run away. It's never good. You think you'll feel better, but you'll feel worse."

The girl keeps her poker face in place and Allie scans her eyes and body, looking for signs that her advice is not coming too late. The girl shakes her head once, so subtly that Allie momentarily believes she's imagined it, but she knows she hasn't.

The girl is sober and Allie wants to cry from joy.

"So… The secret to surviving in these streets is to know what you're worth," Allie grins in secrecy. "I knew I was right when I was kicked out. I knew my parents were wrong. I knew I deserved better. And I kept that thought with me. Whenever something terrible happened, I reminded myself that it was not what I deserved. It wasn't because I was a bad person, or because I was doomed to have a terrible life. It was just because life can be shit sometimes, to anyone."

Allie grabs the hat in a quick movement. She drops the coins in her hand and tosses them to the girl. She fiddles with the hat for a while, even putting it on her head, not thinking about how unclean it is.

She wants the girl to see that she's like her. She isn't afraid of the hat and what it symbolizes. She isn't afraid to sit on the hard concrete for hours and do nothing but talk to herself. She isn't afraid to be seen with her, to interact with her in front of the whole wide world.

She's her equal. She isn't better.

The girl nods, attentive and slowly coming out of her frozen state.

"I love girls," she whispers suddenly, breaking the silence and confirming Allie's intuitions.

The teenager doesn't add anything, simply looks down again, like her confession is too hard to face, too heavy to bear, too wrong for her to accept, and Allie looks at her like she'd look at her reflection in a mirror.

"When did you tell them?" she asks softly, not expecting an answer in return.

The girl shrugs, already back in her shell.

"You're right," Allie replies. "It doesn't matter when. What matters is what they did. I'm guessing they didn't hang the rainbow flag at their windows. Which is a shame, let's face it. Every house needs a rainbow flag."

The girl laughs coldly and the wall between the two of them falls a little more.

"You know what I told them when they told me to get out the second time? I told them that I loved them."

Allie dives into her memories and finds the one she wishes she could forget, but she knows she never will.

"I told them 'I love you' because I thought that it would be alright, that they'd remember that they love me too and that they wouldn't ask me to leave. They would remember that I'm their daughter and that they can't just decide they don't love me anymore, just like I can't decide I don't love them anymore. I loved them deeply, I looked up to them."

She takes a deep breath.

They were her own superheroes, capable to save the world from the apocalypse. And their superpower was simple. It was to love her unconditionally.

"But it didn't work. And for a long time, I believed that love was conditional."

She doesn't add anything, just say it as it is, and everything rushes back to Allie.

The disbelief she'd felt when her parents had looked at her with disgust and fear in their eyes.

The incredulity that had washed over her when she'd seen the door slam on her face, again.

The arrogance boiling in her veins when she'd thought that they would beg her to come back soon.

The heartbreak she'd gone through when she'd been in the streets for twenty-four hours.

The anger. The blazing inferno of anger that had been within her for years before she'd learn how to tame it.

"I was angry. I was so angry and at the same time, I was convinced that they would change their mind. I stayed around the house for a few days. I'd go to them, try to talk to them, say hello every morning. I was a child. I hadn't known anything else but life with my parents, and school, and routine, and I was thrown to the wolves all suddenly. And they'd taken me back once, surely, they'd do it again, right? I had this hope."

It feels like it happened just yesterday and the hurt is suddenly just as sharp as the years before.

"They never spoke to me again. They moved eventually and I… I mourned them. I tried to track them down, but I think they didn't want to be found."

Searching for people who didn't want to be found. Allie remembers that. Fucking hopeless.

"So I may not be you," she declares, forcing the girl to look at her with the directness of her gaze, "but I can imagine what you're going through. And I know the situation enough to know that you may think you don't need help, but you do."

The girl scoffs loudly, like what Allie is suggesting is insane, but Allie laughs joyfully.

"Everyone needs help, you know? If I had never gotten help, I would be a few streets down there," she points a direction and waits for the girl to look up, "at a busy corner, with other girls, some as young as you are. And at night, you'd find me in a cheap motel room, probably not even aware that I'm naked."

The teenager makes a face.

"I'm not going to be like you."

Allie snorts. She remembers the day she said those exact same words to a street worker.

"You don't choose what you become when you're in the streets."

She points in the direction of what appears to be a small coffee shop a few meters away.

"What do you see?"

The teenager shrugs, interest gone.

"I'll tell you what I see. A place where I could have worked if I'd had nicer clothes and cleaner appearance. A place like all the others I went to when I was young, trying to find a job. A place that would have slammed the door to my face just because of how I looked like."

She had tried. She hadn't gone directly to the worst parts of the streets.

She'd just ended up there after too many failures.

"Today, I'm clean, and I have an actual résumé to give out, and wherever I go, people still look at me like I'm a creature of some sort. My experience… it's not much. It's nothing. You don't just write "prostitute" on that paper. I don't write anything at all, you know, I don't invent another life full of dumb lies."

Allie rolls her eyes.

"So people wonder what the hell I've been doing with my life and they don't want me. And you know where you end up when nothing works? You know what you do when you need money? You do things you swear you'd never do."

There's no reaction, but she thinks she sees the light retreats a little farther from the girl's eyes.

"I'm not telling you this for fun or to scare you. I'm hoping that you'll hear me and that you won't make the same mistakes. You can get help. Times have changed. Being gay isn't… it's not something people are afraid of anymore. There are places for kids like you. You know, places with a roof and food and showers and beds!"

"My parents were still scared apparently," the girl spits out with a resentful voice.

"It's got nothing with you."

"I wish I was different."

There's so much hate directed toward herself, so much pain too.

So much cynicism towards life.

"I used to think the same way, but it didn't last long. Remember the rule of survival? I knew who I was, what I wanted, who I loved," Allie replies patiently. "And the world can be a terrible place where everyone tries to tell you that who you are isn't valid, isn't right. You can't let them win."

The girl groans like she doesn't quite believe Allie, like she's told herself the same words a thousand times in her head, but they hadn't fixed anything. They hadn't given her a roof over her head or food in her stomach, or joy in her heart.

"I know it doesn't feel that way right now. You're probably wishing you could fall in love with a boy and make it all okay, aren't you?" Allie boldly asks, not waiting for any response before she keeps going. "You're going to waste your time. You're going to spend energy hating yourself, when this is the time, this is the one moment where you should love yourself more intensely than ever before."

She'd loved herself and then hated herself, and then hated herself some more when her mind had been clouded with drugs and kisses and sex.

"I hated myself. I had sex with men, women and people who identified differently, and it didn't change anything. My sexuality didn't change, and all those years, hating myself? It didn't lead to anything good."

She had fallen through the cracks of the sidewalks, slipped underground and learned to live in the dark.

"It was wasted time and energy that I could have used to get out of there and build a better life."

She had said goodbye to the sun, deciding to live under the light of the moon instead.

"I spent years wishing that my parents would somehow find me and accept me, and love me. It didn't happen and I was crushed."

"What about now?" the girl asks with a small voice.

Allie smiles.

A question.

And a good one too.

"Now? Now I have a place to call home and a girlfriend who's coming back tomorrow, and I know that love, real love, is unconditional. It's hard to find that real love, because you have to open your soul to someone else. You have to be vulnerable. You have to be _you_. But it's worth it."

She points at the empty streets in front of them.

She hasn't spoken to her parents in years. She doesn't even know if they're alive.

"So wherever they are, whatever they're doing, I don't care. I love who I am now. I'm not changing for anyone."

The girl looks at her like her words are made of hope.

"I don't think I can do this," she sighs resignedly.

"I still don't think I can do sometimes, and yet, here I am," Allie immediately replies.

They spend the next hour in silence until Allie looks at the time and must leave.

She opens her mouth, wanting to offer another few words of guidance to the teenager, but nothing comes up.

The girl is looking down again. She doesn't react when Allie gets up.

She does react when Allie stares down at her for a minute.

"Thanks."

A whispered word that conveys so much gratitude that Allie wants to record it and save it forever.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

The girl sends her a wry smile.

"Go be with your girl," she replies with a hint of amusement.

She's locked in a fortress of solitude that can never be escaped, stubbornly refusing Allie's offer.

Allie gazes at her silently, analyzing the cues she receives.

The girl's eyes are empty, lost in a place that isn't accessible to Allie.

* * *

Allie stops somewhere on her way back.

A place where kids go to sleep when they have nowhere else to go.

It's the first time she walks in one of these places and she's surprised to see how many teenagers there are. She'd expected it to be empty, feared from the residents of the streets, but it's the opposite. There are so many people that the worker who welcomes her automatically warns her that they're already full for the night. She wonders where the others are going to sleep tonight.

She glances around, unsure of what to do, who to speak to. Everyone is busy doing something. Most of the teenagers are eating, enjoying the warm meal that is offered to them. The rest of them is talking, planning, sleeping in different corners. There's a room that looks like a living room, where a few younger kids are playing with racing cars and board games, and Allie's heart aches when she notices that some of them are younger than the age she was when she got kicked out.

"Hey," she stops a worker that is carrying a bag of clothes. "What's this?"

"Donations," he answers. "It's not much, but we do with what we have."

Allie nods with interest in her eyes.

"Anyone can come in here?"

"Sure, as long as they agree to a small set of rules. We don't make promises on whether we can keep them for the night, but we welcome as many people as we can during the day."

"And do you go outside, look for the teenagers? Because I know one and - "

"I'll stop you right there," the man says with an apologetic voice. "Most of the kids, they find our place by themselves and we watch them come and go. A lot of them just decide to stay in the streets, with their group, so our street workers make sure that they're not missing out on any of the essential things. But we can't force them to come with us."

"But she's always at the same place, I can tell you exactly where she is," Allie protests. "I don't think she knows about this place."

"Where is she?"

Allie tells him, hoping that this will be enough.

"I'll see what I can do," he frowns, "but this is out of our perimeter. Our streets workers have specific streets to follow."

"What about all the others?" Allie asks like he's out of his mind.

"There are other shelters, other workers. We just hope that someone finds them. We can't walk all over the city, even if we wanted to."

Allie thinks this is dumb, because she'd walk all over the city just to talk to every person and direct them to a safe place.

"Just make sure you don't forget, okay?" she insists until the employee nods and moves on to answer a young man's question.

She walks around a few more minutes, collecting information about what this place does to help. She nearly falls to the ground when she learns that there are only two street workers employed right now. She thinks it's not nearly enough, but she doesn't voice her concerns, well aware that this place is at full capacity regardless.

She walks out of the shelter with a bittersweet taste in the back of her throat.

A loud sound catches her attention.

There's a plane in the sky that reminds her that she can't do everything at once.

For today, it will have to be enough.

* * *

The flight back to Australia is a blur, a premonition that was announced a long time ago but one that Debbie had stopped believing would happen.

It lasts a second. It lasts a lifetime. Everything and nothing happen at the same time.

Debbie doesn't say a word. She's trapped in the cage of her own mind and the process of grief that she inevitably faces. She goes through all the phases within seconds, and when she thinks she's done, she is forced to go through them again by a force stronger than she is.

She walks on the road of denial, fights on the warzone of anger, gambles with the cards of bargaining, lingers on the island of despair before she's deported to the bridge of acceptance, which breaks and makes her fall right back into a raging river of conflicted emotions.

She goes through her memories, anger spinning with sadness and an aching comfort when she recalls the way her father could switch from being a monster to being a role model within seconds. Lies and lies, and everything she thought she knew is being torn apart before her eyes. She wishes she could turn off all sources of light so she never has to see again.

She fights.

She fights to keep the good times and the father she knows she loves, but as she stares out of the window, she sees the scripts of her most treasured memories fly away. Maybe she's always known it, and all she needed was a spark, the tiniest spark to start a forest fire.

She'd spent her entire life kicking the sparks out of her existence, forcing her body and soul to believe that she could have a family that wasn't fucked up by the violence, compromising her bond with her mother and risking her entire life.

But the sparks always come back. They were always meant to win in the end.

She remembers every time her father offered something to her. He told her he'd pay for her rent, for her studies, even for her flight tickets. And he'd done it. The money in her bank account is all his. But even that gesture is more than the kind action she thought it was. He used to say that it made him better than her mother.

It's stupid, the way she can only come back home because of him.

It's the last time she'll ever accept something from him.

She wishes she'd wake up earlier.

She sighs and thinks of America.

She leaves behind dreams that were actually nightmares, and choices that were already made for her. She leaves behind a boyfriend who never loved her and a future that never would have been hers. She leaves behind all the conversations she thought meant she would never be alone again.

She leaves behind an idea of love, and she carries with her the reality of it all.

She glances at her mother and wonders if they'll ever be okay again.

* * *

Allie double-checks everything again, running through the apartment like a headless chicken.

Is the couch perfectly aligned with the lines on the floor? Are the windows as clean as they can be, so clean that a bird could crash into it, thinking that there's no invisible wall in the first place? Is the furniture spotless, bright under the light of the sun peaking inside the apartment? Is the kitchen free of crumbs and dirty dishes? Is the bedroom free of scattered clothes on the floor? Is every item folded and neatly arranged in the drawers? Is everything in perfect order?

Allie doesn't care much about how tidy everything is. She's lived in the streets, she knows what filth is, and she knows that it won't stop her from falling asleep if she's exhausted. But for some unknown reason, the thought of welcoming Bea in a dirty apartment makes her want to disappear to the center of the Earth.

She sits on the couch, counting down the minutes until Bea might open the door and come back home, come back to her. She sits and wonders what she will do when she sees Bea again.

Will she run to her? Will she cry? Will she fall to her knees and worship the presence of the one woman she can't stop thinking of? Will she speak, will she remain silent, will she scream that she's made a trillion mistakes while Bea was gone or will she carry this secret to her grave?

She's nervous, and not just because Bea is coming back. She's anxiously imagining all the possible scenarios in her head and it's driving her insane. A single misplaced word could ruin this moment for them.

She needs to tell Bea now. Not tomorrow, not a week later, not a month later. Today. Tomorrow will be too late, and it will ruin today's memories.

She looks at the clock once, twice, and soon enough, her eyes are glued to the device.

She waits.

She'll spend her whole life waiting if she needs to.

And then, an eternity later, the door creaks open, and Allie rushes to the entrance, heart travelling up and down inside her body.

They don't run toward each other when they meet again. It's nothing like in those fairy tales they were brainwashed with when they were kids. There's no slow motion run and breathtaking kiss, or passionate make out session. There's no trembling proclamation of love or sudden proposal, or tears that flood the wooden floor.

There's nothing like this because when Allie runs at the speed of light at the clicking sounds of the lock, the person she sees first isn't Bea.

It's Debbie, looking paler and sicker than she does in the pictures that are decorating the apartment. The light in her eyes is switching on and off every few seconds, and Allie feels like she's coming face to face with someone whose life is hanging by a thread. It's been a while, but if she looks closely, if she locks eyes with Debbie's, she can see the ghostly scars of drugs within them.

Allie stops right in front of Bea's daughter, unsure of how to greet her. Debbie looks nothing like the girl Allie met before, nothing like the fierce young woman who was fighting just to see her father.

No.

Debbie looks resigned, haunted by demons, and Allie has no idea how to chase them. It was one thing to see her through a blurry camera, it's another reality to face her, to be physically with her.

"Allie," Debbie says with a raspy voice, nodding in a formal way in Allie's direction.

"Debbie," Allie replies, trying to make her voice strong, but failing miserably.

Debbie looks at her like she's trying to dig inside her mind and Allie feels like she's under investigation.

"Mom's paying the taxi. She knows about the garage," Debbie whispers as she passes by Allie. "Dad told her."

Allie remains speechless and the butterflies in her stomach stop flying momentarily, dissolving into the acid surrounding them.

"Don't disturb me with your… whatever it is you'll do now that you're together again," Debbie sighs.

She looks around the apartment, taking in the sight of her new home. She doesn't have any visible reaction before she heads to the small door to the right of the living room, the one Bea told her would lead to her bedroom.

She closes the door and Allie is left standing in the entrance, listening to the distant footsteps getting closer by the second.

She gets increasingly nervous, imagining exactly how their meeting is going to happen. Whatever version plays in her head doesn't do justice to the way her breath gets stuck in her throat when she sees _her_ again.

Bea walks in, eyes tired from the jet lag and the exhaustion that comes with travelling from one continent to another. She's carefully pulling her suitcase inside and finally looks up, eyes instantly locking into Allie's. She blinks several times in a comical way, and her mouth hangs open in disbelief, as if she'd forgotten that there'd be someone to welcome her here.

But she hadn't forgotten about Allie. She had only neglected how impactful the vision of Allie standing in front of her would be. Her heart skyrockets to the farthest galaxy, her lips curve up to split her face in half with the brightest smile, her hands get sweaty and uncomfortably hot, and her chest is full with a type of adrenaline that she doesn't experience when Allie is gone.

She takes a step closer, legs shaking and threatening to give in under her weight as she melts at the simple sight of those ocean eyes. If they were in a movie, she thinks, they'd already be a tangled mess of limbs climbing to each other, but they're in reality, and she's paralyzed.

Gosh. She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what to do. Does she lean in for a kiss? Does she say _hello_ and pretend like she isn't being torn apart by the force of Allie's gravity? Does she run in her arms and knock her down with the strength of her embrace? Does she just stand there like a deer in headlight, waiting for Allie to make a move?

Something kicks the air out of her lungs and her arms automatically circle the delicate curves of Allie's body as the blonde's head nests itself in the crook of Bea's neck. Bea buries her head in Allie's hair and breathes in deeply, tightening her hold to the other woman. She thinks she could cry from the way it feels to have Allie presses so intimately against her.

 _So this is home._

They thought they knew what it felt to embrace each other, but they were wrong. It's more magical than they remember it to be, it's more miraculous than they thought it'd be. It smells like home, and it tastes like safety, and when Bea starts to pull apart, only to be restrained slightly by Allie's desire to remain close to her, it feels like forever.

They forget that the Earth is still moving around them, that Time won't stop, even for lovers.

They don't forget that there is still space between them. They cling to each other and tighten their hold on one another because it's _never enough._ They'll never be close enough, they'll never feel each other enough, and the space between them will always exist no matter how hard they try.

But they try anyway, because it's been too long, and they want to erase every trace that they've been apart in the first place.

They stand still, holding each other like they're the source of life itself, until Allie moves back and brushes her nose against Bea's. It lasts a heartbeat and then she pulls Bea close to her again, pressing their lips together.

She falls apart from the way Bea's lips part and melt with her own.

She comes undone from the way Bea's tongue dances with hers in a soft motion.

She implodes from the way Bea's hand gently presses the back of her neck, refusing to let her move away.

She breathes fresh air when Bea eventually moves back, biting her lower lip in a way that strikes Allie with a primal hunger.

"I missed you," Bea murmurs, just millimeters away from Allie.

"I missed you more," Allie replies with a smirk.

"Impossible."

"I did anyway."

Bea rolls her eyes.

"I'm magic," Allie winks mockingly. "How was the flight?"

"Exhausting. Is Debbie …?"

"She's in her room."

Bea nods quietly, many thoughts fighting for dominance in her head.

"Come with me," Allie says.

She takes Bea's hand and guides her to the master bedroom.

The suitcase is long forgotten when they fall on the bed, Allie pulling Bea along. The mattress bounces under their weight and Allie smiles because finally, she doesn't have to face an empty side anymore. They lie together on the bed, facing each other silently until Bea breaks the silence shyly.

"What are we doing?"

Allie shrugs, suddenly shy and unsure.

"I just want to be with you for a while. Just…" she shifts closer and pulls Bea in a gentle hug. "hold you."

She just wants everything to stop for a moment.

She just wants to be with Bea, only Bea.

It's been too long since she's held Bea like that and she wants to fall asleep even though it's the middle of the day. She presses her forehead to Bea's and the world disappears, and she forgets that she is the owner of a secret that can't remain hidden.

She reacquaints with the way it feels to have her heartbeat synchronizes with Bea's, and the way it feels to have her senses overwhelmed by Bea's presence. She refuses to blink when she sees Bea staring back at her with so much affection in her eyes that she doesn't know what to do with it.

"You're beautiful," she mouths silently.

They stay this way for a long time, so long that Bea falls asleep, guided by the warmth of Allie's arms.

It isn't like watching her sleep via videocall, Allie thinks. It's better. It's more intimate It's a moment she'll treasure for the rest of her life. No one else can see this moment. No one can share this. No one can imagine what it feels like, or records this.

It's _their_ s.

Bea doesn't move while she sleeps, but when she jerks awake, no doubt from a nightmare, Allie is right there to soothe her worries away.

"I'm here," Allie shivers when Bea looks at her with brown frightened eyes. "I'm here."

It takes a minute for Bea to calm down, and when she does, she looks at Allie and says:

"I dreamed you weren't there."

"What a terrible dream," Allie chuckles, pressing a kiss to Bea's forehead.

"And I saw Harry. He was… I'm not sure what he was doing."

"He's never going to be near you again," Allie swears.

"I'm trying to make him go away for good," Bea says. "Trying."

Allie doesn't want to ruin this moment, the fragility of their newfound proximity, but she feels thorns closing in around her conscience when she is reminded of her secret. Roses bloom, more prominent than before, when Bea squeezes her hand.

"It's okay, I'm home now," Bea whispers.

"Yeah. It's about damn time," Allie grins mischievously. "I thought I'd lose you to the Americans."

"Never," Bea shakes her head. "I was just waiting for my little girl to come back with me."

"How is she?"

"She didn't talk much, but she's here, it's all that matters," Bea sighs. "I'll deal with the school and the papers and everything tomorrow. Right now, she needs to rest. She needs time."

"Is she transferring back here?"

Bea nods silently. There's no way she'll let her daughter stay there.

"She doesn't look so bad. I've seen people in worst shapes after an overdose."

"I'm scared that the real wounds are in her mind," Bea replies with a monotone voice. "Places we can't see." She looks with Allie with such intensity in her eyes that it seems like she's trying to read her mind. "Places I can't reach."

Allie hums knowingly. There's only so much they can do for Debbie. The rest will be up to her, but maybe she can find a way to have a conversation with her. If Debbie will let her.

"And you? How are you?" Bea asks, changing the subject. "How much do we owe Franky for keeping you alive?"

Allie gasps and pretended to be highly offended.

"I didn't abuse her hospitality! I know how to keep myself alive!"

"Liar. There's no way you'd look that good without Franky's meals on a daily basis."

Allie laughs and shifts closer to Bea, if that is even possible.

"I still got it?" she asks playfully.

Bea grins and shakes her head, but in her eyes burn a spark of desire that she cannot hide.

"Yeah, I do," Allie smirks, pressing a soft kiss on the corner of Bea's mouth. "You can't deny it. You want me. Say it!"

Her confidence is bursting in the room in a parodic way and Bea doesn't answer, just keep smiling like she's an innocent angel.

"Come on, Bea, say it, you want a piece of _that,_ " Allie insists playfully, pointing at herself.

Bea's smile widens and purses her lips, keeping the words inside her head.

"Well, I sure want you," Allie wiggles her eyebrows and looks at Bea with lust in her eyes. "I'm not too shy to say it." She smirks and nearly undresses Bea with her eyes, making the other woman rolls on the bed t grab a pillow to hide her face in.

Allie barks a loud laugh at the gesture and she rolls too until she's near Bea again.

"I'm not shy!" Bea protests from behind the pillow.

"You are," Allie chuckles.

"No."

"Then say it, you want me."

Bea looks at the ceiling and pretends like she didn't hear a thing, and Allie laughs even harder.

"I signed up for a life with you and it's going to be absolutely glorious," she teases. "Tomorrow or ten years later, or when we're both freaking stardust, I don't care, I'll get you to say it."

Bea throws a challenging look at Allie, like she still doesn't quite believe that Allie will care for her in so many years, but she doesn't reply. They stay silent for a moment, both smiling until their cheeks start hurting from the motion.

"A life with me, uh?" Bea asks, nudging Allie's side.

"A life with you," Allie nods confidently.

"And what if I want to get rid of you?' Bea deadpans.

"You would never," Allie smirks, "you wouldn't dare."

She throws her best puppy eyes at Bea.

"You're right," Bea answers warmly, not even wanting to think about a world where she wouldn't be with Allie. "And I can't believe that you're still here. After all this time."

"Of course, I am," Allie beams and presses a quick kiss on Bea's lips. "I don't want to be anywhere else. I don't want to be away from you, ever again."

The next hour flies by as they talk about nothing and everything.

Allie tells Bea that she's still meeting with the teenager girl from the streets and that she's starting to go somewhere with her. She doesn't betray the girl's trust, doesn't tell Bea about her story, but her eyes shine when she talks about it and Bea believes that Allie has found her calling.

Bea tells Allie about the last conversations she'd had with her lawyer and how the procedures to get a divorce are going to take a long time. She tells her that she's not stopping until she gets what she wants, and it brings tears to Allie's eyes because Bea _will_ get her freedom.

Allie tells Bea that she made sure to keep in touch with Doreen, reassuring the redhead that the job is still available if she wants it. The conversation takes a darker turn when Allie announces that Erica can't delay the rent for much longer, and that Bea would need to start as working as soon as possible, tomorrow ideally.

Bea panics at the idea of leaving her daughter here alone until she fixes the mess with the university.

Allie tells her that she can stay home in the meantime to look over Debbie.

Their conversation flows relentlessly and every time they think they have a problem, they fix it.

Bea questions Allie on her quest for a job and the blonde looks away, ashamed when she confesses that so far, no one wants to hire her. Allie tries to laugh about it, saying that they're missing out on the greatest employee ever, but Bea sees through her act and reads the hurt and the rejection between the line of Allie's jokes.

 _It'll be fine_ , Bea says. And if things get worse, Allie can apply for welfare until something better happens.

 _It'll be fine,_ Allie replies. She won't give up until she lands a job, even if it doesn't pay much.

 _It'll be fine,_ they both believe, thinking that being an adult sometimes sucks and that it shouldn't be so expensive to stay alive.

 _It'll be fine,_ they both know, as long as they're together and that they don't stop trying.

Allie gets lost in Bea's presence like it's the very first time. She's hypnotized by the way Bea smiles at her and reacts to every word she says.

"How stupidly cliché is it if I tell you that you make me feel invincible?" Allie grins.

"Not as much as if I tell you that I feel the same," Bea smiles.

She gets up and comes back with a piece of paper and a pencil. She sits on the bed while Allie watches her patiently. She draws a sketch of Allie's eyes and when she's done, Allie gasps at the realism of the piece, from the shadows surrounding every line, to the emotions she reads on the paper.

Allie stares at her own eyes, at the way they are filled with love, and wonders if Bea can see it just as clearly as she can.

If Bea can see it, does it bother her? Does it scare her? Is she waiting for Allie to say the words that goes with it?

And what else can Bea see in her eyes? Can she see the lies too? Can she see the way her soul is taken hostage by all that is unsaid and all that she wishes she could erase?

And when the fuck are they going to be able to love each other _freely_ and without this dark cloud following them around like the world's neediest cloud?! It's an endless cycle and if they ever want to have a real, honest chance, Allie needs to come clean, needs to spill everything once and for all.

 _Fuck._ She wants to run away.

She's more scared than when she spent her first night in the streets. She's more terrified than when she spent her first night in the arms of a stranger in exchange for money. She's more paralyzed than the first time she tried ice.

She didn't have anything back then.

She has everything to lose now.

"What's wrong?" Bea asks, feeling the atmosphere change. "You don't like it?"

"I – I love it, that's not the point," Allie hesitates.

Bea creates a masterpiece for them every day, and Allie feels like she keeps destroying it.

"Tell me," Bea frowns.

Allie hesitates. She's walking on thin ice and if it breaks, she'll drown in glacial water, and she fears that she might make the ground break under Bea's feet too.

"Allie?" Bea brushes her golden hair gently. "You can tell me. Whatever it is, we'll fix it."

Allie wants to laugh because, sure, they can fix it. They can get over it and she can be forgiven, but what about trust? What about the trust that exist between them, will it ever be repaired? And without trust, how can there be love?

Why is love so fragile and so strong at the same time? Why is it so impossibly hard?

"You won't like it," she warns. "I don't know what you're expecting, but it won't be that."

Bea looks at her with understanding eyes and Allie tries to memorize that sight, to print it in her brain because it might all be gone in the next minute.

"I care about you, Allie," Bea softly says. "You know it. You know it won't change, remember? You knew it even before I could admit it myself."

Allie nods. She remembers it clearly. It was just a game back then, and there were no serious feelings, and everything had seemed so much easier. There was no risk of having her heart broken back then. Her posture stiffens and the bed no longer feels conformable, and the room is closing in on her, trapping her until she blurts out the truth and clears her conscience.

"I care about you," Bea repeats, like it's enough to make everything easier.

It makes everything harder.

And Allie aches and aches and the words she would rather keep in come out and shake the earth,

She tells her everything. From the very first second she decided she would do something, to the precise planning of the perfect crime, to the harsh, impulsive execution of it all. She neglects nothing, even adds as many details as she can so she doesn't accidently hide something else from Bea.

She talks about the fateful night like it was yesterday, her memories just as strong as ever, and her guilt just as powerful as it was then.

She talks and talks, trying to make it sound like her intentions were good, and the more words she pronounces, the farther Bea shifts from her, and the somber her eyes become. Gone is the understanding look.

"And I ran away. I never went back. I ran as fast as I could. And I wish I could take it all back," Allie pleads.

And when she's done, she sees Bea's eyes turn as red as her crimson hair.

"I can't fucking believe you did that!" Bea rages, trying to keep her voice low so she doesn't alert her daughter. She gets up and stands in front of the bed, gesticulating widely. "Did you even think when you did this?!"

"Bea, you have to understand – "

"There's nothing to understand!" she hisses. "You put your life in danger. You almost got yourself thrown in jail. And it's a miracle you didn't go down for this! What the fuck were you thinking?! What if he'd seen you? What if he'd caught you? Where do you think you'd be right now?!"

Bea runs her hand in her hair, shooting a dozen questions in Allie's direction while she walks around the room. She puts more distance between her and Allie, and whether it is a conscious move or not, Allie will never know, but it still hurts.

Bea is panicking. She can't look at Allie without imagining her behind bars, or worst, falling under Harry's revengeful blows. She can't look at Allie without seeing bruises and hearing ambulance sirens, and she wants to make it all stop but she can't.

Because she _cares._ And it blinds her. It blinds her rationality and her logic, and all she can see now is…

Allie, imprisoned.

Allie, hurt.

Allie, dead.

Allie, gone forever from her life.

"I didn't do it…" Allie replies lowly, trying to fix the mess she created.

"I don't care," Bea growls. "You almost did. You planned this!"

She's angry and she's relieved, and she wants to cry at the thought that they almost lost everything, but didn't. She hears Allie's speech over and over in her brain and she decrypts every syllable, trying to see if a single detail could mean the end for them, but she doesn't notice anything.

She can't believe she didn't see it coming.

Allie had been distant, different, and Bea had blamed the distance, the time difference, the normal difficulties that they had encountered in this relationship. She never suspected that there had been something much bigger behind this change of behavior.

"Bea…" Allie is losing control and being swept away from Bea by invisible currents.

"Stop. Let me think. Let me think about how I almost lost my girlfriend because she did something so careless. You know he wanted to file a complaint against me? But he didn't have proof for it. It didn't stand. So in this mess, you did something good. You didn't leave a trace that lead to you."

Allie tries to join her, but Bea keeps walking away, keeps standing on the opposite side of the room.

It's a disaster.

"I'm so – "

"Stop. Don't you dare say you're sorry," Bea growls. "The only reason you say you're sorry right now is because you're still alive. If he'd caught you, you wouldn't be able to say a single word."

Allie watches as Bea stops in front of the window and stares outside. She thinks she sees her shaking, and she wants nothing more than to run to her and make her stop trembling, but she knows that it's better to give her space.

She clenches her fists and stares silently at Bea's silhouette.

She'd never had someone be _worried_ for her.

She'd always been independent, maybe too independent for her own good.

She'd always acted based on what she thought was right, always made her own decision without having to consider anyone else's. And it had been easy. There'd been no one to judge her at the end of the day, no one to scold her, to tell her to be more careful, no one to tell her that they'd been scared for her. There'd been no one to catch her if she fell, and she'd learned to bounce back up on her own. There'd been no one to make her feel guilty about her own behavior or to make her second guess obvious choices.

But not anymore.

Now, there's Bea.

She has to consider that she might hurt Bea in the process, that her actions aren't free of consequences anymore.

It's harder than she'd expected.

"What would have I done if you had landed yourself in jail?" Bea asks absently, not turning around to look at Allie. "What if you were dead, Allie? What if you…"

There's a growing distance in the room, and Allie sees it stretching more and more, putting more emptiness between them. Bea is no longer just a few meters away from her, she's kilometers away, and Allie can't keep up, can't spring to her, can't fly to her, can't see her in the horizon anymore.

She reaches for Bea, opens her mouth to tell her that she's made a mistake and that it shouldn't destroy them.

She parts her lips to tell her that she's sorry, that she's learned from this terrible idea, and that she won't play with her life anymore because she wants to spend it with Bea, not behind bars.

She's going to tell her that she's dreaming of a world in which they can love each other, and that nothing else matters.

"I love you," she says instead, impulsively fast and burning hot, her heart pounding and her breath shaking.

She wishes things were different. She wishes they were underneath the stars, having a cosmical date that they'd pretend is fake until they wouldn't able to deny the blaring truth. She wishes they were flying under the bright sun, sailing across the waves of the ocean and flirting with the idea of a happy ending.

She wishes they were drunk in love, buried under layers of laughs and smiles and kisses.

She wishes they weren't battered by life and by love, that they hadn't gone through all this shit. She wishes that they hadn't had their trust betrayed so many times so they wouldn't be so scared, so petrified of each other, of words that are purer than anything else.

She didn't want those words to come out when they are fighting and sending bombs at each other.

She didn't want those words to sound so desperate, like the way they did when she told them to her parents or the way they did when she shouted them hastily at her lover.

She throws them at Bea like it's the very last thing she wants to do right now, but also the only thing she is capable of doing.

She won't survive if they aren't enough this time.

She won't survive if Bea walks away from those words like her parents did, decades ago, or like Marie did, years ago. She won't survive if Bea rejects her, rejects the only real thing that Allie has felt ever since they met on a fateful lonely night.

Bea crosses the room in a few steps and stops right in front of her, so close that Allie can hear their heartbeats drum together and create the loudest concert.

Everything Bea cannot say, she asks with her eyes and the intensity of her stare.

Everything she cannot say, she asks with the slightest touch of her hand with Allie's.

She's begging Allie to put an end to her misery.

"I love you," Allie replies delicately, like she's rehearsed this moment since the day she was born, despite feeling like she might crash and reach the center of the Earth if Bea doesn't stop her before.

There's an ache in Bea's chest and she doesn't know how she can stand still when those words exist between them, when those words are ravaging everything she's ever known.

Bea Smith, worthless, slut, ugly, weak and so replaceable, is _loved._

Bea Smith, worth everything in the world and more, magnificent and fragile, incredibly strong and so irreplaceable, is loved.

Harry used to say that she was impossible to love.

Allie makes it sounds like there's nothing easier to do.

Bea thinks she's going to cry, to flood the world with tears that she isn't sure come from joy or despair, or the fact that Allie said those words with the most horrible timing.

She doesn't answer. She doesn't think she'll ever be able to answer because Allie took the words she wanted to say and made them inaccessible to her.

 _That's a shame,_ Bea thinks. Allie took these words, and now Bea can never say them back, can never make them meaningful again because her voice is always going to pale in comparison to Allie's. She wants to run away at the thought that she won't ever be able to give Allie the love she deserves, unaware that the blonde thinks the same.

Allie waits, hopes, and Bea expects her to take back those words any second now.

But Allie just keep staring at her like she's never been more serious in her life.

An eternity flies by, during which Allie loves and loves and never stop falling in love with Bea.

A lifetime of love is shared between the two women in the lifespan of a second.

"You don't have to answer," Allie whispers, her voice shaking and vulnerable, like she's walking on glass and she's afraid she'll cut her soul open. "Just…"

She licks her lips nervously, glancing down, intimidated by the force of her own words.

"Just don't go."

Bea nods once.

"I won't go," she promises.

She stops focusing on the vision of Allie behind bars, of Allie's coffin being lowered to the ground.

She focuses on Allie, as she is, alive and standing in front of her with tearful eyes.

She focuses on Allie, who loves her.

* * *

 _I love you._

It stops the hurricane and pauses the war.

It rewinds the tape and records the present over the past.

It comes unexpected and it surprises them both.

It moves them. It changes them.

It's a catalyst for what is yet to come.

It hurts and it heals, and it lasts long after the words are gone.

* * *

They go at Franky's place to eat dinner.

They are welcomed by the heavenly smell of an extravagant dish and two overly excited women, Franky and Boomer.

Debbie comes along, forced by an insistent mother, and she plasters a smile on her face for the evening. No matter how many questions or comments Franky throws at her, she still feels like she doesn't quite belong in this place. This is her mother's new universe, and she has no idea how to stop feeling like a five years old again.

Bea never stops saying _thank you_ until Franky threatens her to kick her out if she says those words one more time. She switches to say _I'll pay you back_ every fifteen minutes, and Franky nearly loses it, grabbing a ravioli and throwing it at Bea's face. Bea frantically blocks the pasta by moving her hands around like a mad woman, and it flies around to land on the top of Allie's head, whose blue eyes are widened in shock.

Boomer nearly dies laughing, slamming her hands on the table so hard that it shakes dangerously. She stops the imminent war by placing a ravioli on top of her own head, soon followed by Franky's and Bea's as they all start cracking up. She even manages to land one on the top of a very confused Debbie.

Debbie manages to laugh for a second, transported by the way the women around her are thriving in the moment.

Bea never looks away from Allie for more than a minute, afraid that the blonde might vanish again, out of her reach, too far for her heart to follow.

Allie never looks away from Bea for more than a minute, terrified that this is all a dream and that Bea is going to disappear, only to reappear on the other side of an ocean.

Franky stares at them, noticing the differences in the similarities.

They aren't looking at each other like they did before.

Something's changed.

* * *

She wakes up in the middle of the night, when the moon is the only source of light to carry her heavy heart home. She quietly slips out of bed to drink a glass of water and quickly makes her way to Debbie's room. Not a sound, except for the lightest snore she's ever heard. Allie smiles, her chest aching for Bea's daughter and the challenges she has yet to face.

She walks back to the master bedroom quietly, making sure that she's as discreet as possible. She tiptoes inside the room and her heart melts at the sight of Bea, curled up in a ball. Bea's mouth is slightly open and she doesn't move when Allie brushes a strand of hair away from her face.

Allie swoons over the simplest sight of Bea.

She admires the peaceful way Bea sleeps, free from the constant worrying and the choking dilemmas she must confront everyday. She is in awe at the way Bea's chest rises according to the breaths she takes and the rhythm of her heart. She adores the way Bea's lips are slightly parted, and the way her eyelids sometimes flutter in a subtle motion.

Allies doesn't think she'll ever get used to this, to this raw beauty in front of her.

She's in love with the absence of sadness from Bea's face. She's in love with the painted innocence on Bea's face. She's in love with the smallest wrinkles on Bea's face, proof that the woman has also known many moments of joy. She wishes it would last, but she knows that this isn't the way life works.

So she takes a thousand pictures with her mind and she frames every single one of them in her memory.

Allie slips under the cover, shivering until the warmth has spread all over her body. She stays immobile for a second, hoping the movement won't wake Bea up. It doesn't, and she shuffles closer to Bea. She doesn't hesitate when she places a secure arm around Bea's shoulder.

She falls asleep watching Bea and matching her heartbeat to the one of the woman she loves.

And when she sleeps, she falls into a dream she won't remember the next morning.

* * *

 _Allie's jogging through the labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys._

 _She's almost running, but not quite, because running would attract the attention of people she'd rather stay invisible from. She tries her best to focus on the road ahead of her and not the screams or the calls coming from various directions around her. She walks through cigarette smoke and she steps on used needles, and she places her hands in the pocket of her teal hoodie, protecting them from the impatient pulls of the various dealers._

 _For the first time in too long, she has no interest in any of these substances._

 _She slows down when she arrives at her alley, the one she made her home for too long. It's empty now. No more dirty blankets or thin makeshift pillows. She stares at it for a moment, until the emptiness doesn't bother her anymore. Then she smiles, and she nods the way she would if she were saying farewell to an old friend, and she moves on._

 _She walks past the prostitutes and the waiting cars full of potential clients. Once upon a time, she might have stopped, might have offered her services in exchange for a couple of bills, but not today. Today, she walks a little faster, making sure not to meet anyone's eyes. She carefully keeps the hood on her head and ignores the familiar voices chanting her name, welcoming her back to this life that isn't really worth living._

 _She finds the place she'd been looking for. A tall building with people selling gear at the entrance and broken windows on the lower levels. She enters without any problem and heads for the stairs. The higher levels are classier, newer, like they're the ones being renovated and taken care of every once in a while. They're shiny and attractive, the perfect lures for the innocent._

 _It's Marie Winter's empire after all, she wouldn't let her personal rooms fall apart._

 _Allie heads to a specific room. Her room. The room where she had a queen-sized bed just for herself, until Marie had started joining her. The room where she first shot heroin in her veins and where she first overdosed a few weeks later. The room where she fell in love with a fake reality and a doomed future._

 _A magical castle that became a prison as soon as she'd started working for Marie and having to earn her stay._

 _She opens the door slowly, as silently as possible, and she glances inside. Her heartbeat pauses when she sees a figure sleeping on the bed. The bed is gorgeous, with fluffy pillows and giant covers, and the person on top of it does not look like she belongs there, with her bruised arms and her hollow eyes and her filthy clothes._

" _I don't need your help," the young blonde speaks with a tone carefully crafted over the years spent in this place. "Leave."_

 _Allie remembers vividly saying those words, shouting them even, to every person that would ever try to help her, to every person that would ever cross that door._

 _She remembers feeling like she had nowhere else to go, and therefore, like she was forced to remain there, watching Marie attract more and more victims in her spiderweb._

 _She remembers that she didn't mean any of these words. She was just protecting herself from false hope, the deathliest weapon of them all._

 _Allie doesn't say anything, just walks until she reaches the side of the bed. She wants to lie down on it, just for a second, before she tears the covers apart and breaks everything around her._

 _She doesn't even touch the bed._

 _She looks right into the young blonde's blue eyes and waits just long enough to see a crack in the solid armor._

 _She takes her younger self's hand and receives no resistance when she guides her to the exit._

 _They stumble out of this horror house like they would escape a prison._

 _Even in a dream state, Allie feels the way her younger self is shaking, from fear and excitement, and apprehension. She feels her hand being held tightly, to the point that it starts to hurt, but she won't ask her double to release her grip. She knows how meaningful this moment is._

 _She's out. She's gone. She's never coming back._

 _Outside, the sun is bright, the sky is shining and the air has never smelled better._

She wakes up, a smile lingering on her lips, and she doesn't know why.

Bea shifts closer to her in her sleep.

Maybe that's why.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading!**


	16. So close to home

**Title comes from "So close to magic" by Aquilo.**

 **Thank you all for reading and commenting.**

 **Enjoy this chapter, which is hopefully more on the bright side. It picks up directly where the previous one ended.**

* * *

 **Chapter 16 : So close to home**

Bea wakes up a few minutes after Allie has gone back to sleep.

The sun is slowly rising in the horizon and she looks at the time quickly. She groans when she realizes that she needs to leave soon. She wants nothing more than to stay and enjoy the comfort of her bed, but she can't.

She wishes she could stay long enough to memorize this moment, to really appreciate the fact that she's back and that Allie, gorgeous Allie, is sleeping next to her, in the safety of their home. She wishes she could live in this quiet morning for years. She'd reacquaint with the delicateness of Allie's embrace, and the fragility of Allie's kisses.

They could make time stop with the intensity of their stares, if they were just given the opportunity.

They could shake the core of the world with the waves created by their embrace, if they were just given the chance.

They could do everything, _be_ everything.

Tomorrow, maybe. Hopefully.

She's been away for too long now. It's a miracle that she's met people kind enough to be understanding of her situation. She doesn't want to owe them any more than she already does. She already feels like she's indebted to them for years now, and she still needs to swallow her pride and beg for Doreen to pay her in advance just so she can afford her rent.

She'll be risking her job if she does that, but she'll be gambling with her apartment if she doesn't. She doesn't want to go back to the shelter, and she doesn't want Allie to go back either. They can only move forward, that is the only road she's willing to walk on.

She gets up as slowly as possible, and leaves the bed as quietly as she can, even becoming a statue when Allie moves in her sleep.

Allie, whose words from yesterday are still tumbling all over Bea's mind.

 _I love you._

A white flag in a war.

And this is exactly what bothers her.

This white flag wouldn't have existed if there hadn't been a war to start with. This white flag would have remained hidden somewhere else, somewhere she wouldn't even have known existed. This white flag wouldn't be occupying her mind like it is right now. This white flag probably wouldn't have been a white flag to begin with.

It would have been a breathtaking declaration at a time of peace and serenity, not something so _heartbreaking._

Did Allie even mean those words? Did she truly want to say them? Did they mean what they were meant to, or were they just spit out quickly, without a second thought for what they really stood for? Did she say them because she meant them, or did she just say them to prevent the escalation of the conflict?

Did she feel them as intensely as Bea did when she received them?

What if Allie wanted to say something else instead, and couldn't think of something, and just said _I love you_ without considering it?

What if Allie were to take back those words today? Or worse, what if Allie asked her to say them back?

She can't say them back. She isn't ready.

Her heartbeat increases dangerously as she imagines all the possible scenarios in which Allie would leave her if she doesn't say those words back. She shakes her head silently. Allie would never do that. Gosh. She's a mess and at this point, she doesn't even remember how to pronounce those cursed words.

Bea needs to know the answers to all these questions or she's going to be overwhelmed by madness before the end of the day.

But again, she can't stay.

She presses a trembling kiss on Allie's cheek before she escapes this room and its suffocating secrets.

She can ask her when she comes back.

She can wait until then.

She can. She can. She really can. She repeats it in her head like a mantra until she almost believes it.

She thinks she'll give herself a headache. She blames it on the jet lag and denies reality a little longer.

She walks to her daughter's bedroom and she opens the door as gently as she can. It doesn't make a sound, and she is graced by the vision of her daughter sleeping calmly in her bed. Relief hits her like a tidal wave.

Debbie is here now. They're back at the beginning, at the starting point of their story, but it's something, and it's better than any other beginning they've had before. Bea walks up to her daughter and tucks the covers neatly around her.

"My beautiful girl, you're safe now. I promise," she murmurs, taking a few seconds to capture a dozen pictures with her mind. She'll treasure them all day until she can come back here and take more shots.

She runs outside a few minutes later, ready to attack the day despite the anxiety slowly growing weeds around her heart.

* * *

She's married to anxiety when she arrives at the salon. She takes a few seconds to trim the vines wrapping her heart, just enough so it has space to beat again.

She walks inside the salon with a trillion thoughts in her mind, all of them related to Allie or Debbie. She really wants to pause them for the time being, but they seem to follow her wherever she goes. She blinks a few times, trying to get her sight focused on the chairs and the accessories that she'll need to be the great hairdresser that she knows she can be, but she can still see the outlines of Allie and Debbie's shadows around her.

She hopes they'll be fine.

"Bea Smith, is that really you? I knew you were supposed to come back today, but frankly I was beginning to think we'd never get to work with you."

Bea forces a smile on her face.

"Hi Doreen," she says. "I'm so so – "

Doreen pulls her in a tight embrace, interrupting the carefully prepared speech she was going to say.

Bea isn't sure how to react. She's never been physically affectionate with strangers and her immediate thought is that it is a trap, that Doreen probably wants to fire her right now. But Doreen just keeps smiling at her like she's genuinely happy to see her, and Bea's stomach flips in her belly.

Is this how people are in real life? People who haven't gone through the same shit she went through? People who don't associate physical touches with violence?

"Don't you dare apologize. How's your girl?" Doreen asks without any trace of anger in her eyes.

Bea's mouth hangs open for a ridiculously long amount of time before she finally figures out how to speak again. She'd expected to be yelled at, to be fired on the spot, to be told that she was irresponsible and never to be trusted again.

She hadn't expected Doreen to show so much compassion. Doreen doesn't work at a shelter. Doreen isn't trained to help her, isn't obliged to show her kindness, but she still does, and Bea still has the hardest time letting her guard down.

She awkwardly takes a step back, placing more space between them. There, she thinks. Now, this is an acceptable distance.

"She's back home with us," she smiles. "She's okay for now."

The last words taste like a lie. Her daughter probably isn't okay, but it's better to pretend that she is so she doesn't have to start that conversation with someone she barely knows. And maybe she can fool herself for the length of the day, get rid of all the distractions in her head so she can focus on her job and avoid accidently making someone bald.

"Well, if you need anything, let me know. I have a son. I don't know what I'd do if he were in the hospital. I'd lose it."

Bea nods slowly. She hadn't told Doreen the details of Debbie's hospitalization, but she had shared enough to justify her absence here for a few weeks.

"I still don't know what to do," she chuckles embarrassingly. "I don't think any of us do. But she's back with me and I think it's better now."

"I'm so happy to hear that, Bea. I really am," Doreen replies with a ginormous smile that makes Bea momentarily believe that Doreen cares. "I was so worried for you."

Bea hums in appreciation.

"I just need to work," Bea says, not wanting to ask for money right now. She can only imagine how horrible it would sound. "Get my mind off the problems, you know? I'm very grateful that you've kept my place."

Words don't begin to express how grateful she is.

"Don't worry about that, it's fine, of course. And this is your station," Doreen gestures to a chair on the left side. "Everything you need, you'll find there. If you see something missing or if you need extras, you can go in the back. We have everything stored there. We're expecting tons of customers today, so you'll help if we can't keep up with our schedule. Is that alright with you? At the end of the day, we'll meet so we can sign your contract if you still want to stay after."

"That would be nice," Bea accepts. "Do I just wait for someone to direct a client to me?"

"Yes. For this morning at least, until we can have a better idea of how you work. Eventually, you'll get your own regulars."

"That's fair," Bea agrees.

"You had a salon before, didn't you? Allie told me, I hope it isn't indiscreet."

Flashes of her old salon cross Bea's mind like incomplete scenes from an old movie.

Huge mirrors covering the walls and modern lights hanging from the ceiling. Colorful shelves full of accessories. A few seats for the waiting customers, surrounded by piles of all kinds of newspapers and magazines. Smiling people walking in and out. Regulars with whom she talked about her day and shared the most ridiculous anecdotes. Strangers who came knocking at her door, asking about her prices and then deciding to stay because she always knew the best music to play to lure everyone in. The perpetual smell of shampoo and conditioner, and all kind of crazy products people used to create masterpieces with their heads.

"I did. It's been a while."

"If any of your old customers want to come here, they are welcome," Doreen specifies. "Now I'll let you get ready. We open in ten."

She makes sure Bea is comfortable before she leaves her alone.

Bea stays immobile a few more seconds. Doreen is nice. Doreen could become a friend, one that she wouldn't lose because of a controlling husband.

She takes a few minutes to visually learn where everything is and then she takes a deep breath.

This is it.

This is the moment when everything starts again, when the foundations of a solid life are built again, when her entire existence becomes normal again. This is when she dives back in the action and starts climbing the ladder back to the successful person she once was.

She dodges every negative thought that tries to break her calm composure. She's had enough of thinking that she's not good enough, not capable enough. She doesn't want to let those beliefs in her life anymore because every time she does, it only wears her down, only makes everything worse.

She'll make it through the day, she thinks, she'll thrive and make some customers happy, and she'll hopefully find a way to pay for her rent before the end of the day.

The door opens, the customers walk in, the show begins, and Bea is more ready than she's ever been.

* * *

She's nowhere near ready to face the day.

Waking up to an empty bed after spending the entire night cuddling to her favorite person must be the absolute worst feeling in the entire world, she decides.

She hasn't even opened her eyes yet and she's already grumpy because she feels the absence of her significant other. She pats the sheets blindly, somehow clinging to the tiniest part of her that believes that, maybe, Bea is still sleeping next to her. But she only touches air and it makes her want to sleep until Bea shows up again.

Happiness strangely shows up more often when Bea is around, she thinks.

She pouts when she opens her eyes and, indeed, faces a lifeless, empty side. This bed doesn't feel so inviting now that it only offers her a sad sight. She wishes she never has to see it again. Tomorrow, she'll wake up with Bea, she decides.

She inhales deeply and feels her heart doing a few jumps when she remembers that Bea will be back tonight.

Bea will be back and they will fall asleep together again tonight, and tomorrow, and maybe every night for the rest of their lives. Allie wears a stupidly wide grin on her face when she reluctantly gets up and exits the room. The thought of Bea is enough to make her float to the kitchen like it's giving her superpowers.

She takes out a few pieces of bread to toast and pours herself a glass of water. She sits on a chair and lets the silence envelops her for a while. She sips a little of the cold liquid and it wakes her up a bit more.

She's not tired anymore. She already knows what she wants to do today. Her routine has been the same every day ever since she started waiting for Bea. Try to find a job, go to her daily meeting with a certain teenager, stop by at a few places for free food, and give a daily call to Franky.

Today, she can't do that, as she has another responsibility now. It's an important one that deserves all her attention, and it's about another human being.

She glances at the closed door of Debbie's room. She doesn't hear any sound and she wonders if the young woman is still sleeping. Part of her hopes so. She doesn't particularly feel like making awkward conversations with someone who could send her to jail in a heartbeat.

 _She knows about the garage_ , Debbie had told her.

Which means that Debbie knows it was her, too. She knows too much. She could send her behind bars and get rid of her, ifs he wanted. And Allie's not enough of a fool to believe that she has a particularly strong bond with Bea's daughter. There's no attachment, nothing to reassure her that Debbie won't try to kick her out of the apartment.

Allie gets increasingly nervous the longer she watches the door. She blinks and flinches at the sound of the toasts jumping out of the machine. She clears her throat and gets up. She takes a few steps toward Debbie's room.

She's a grown ass woman, she tells herself. She has nothing to be afraid of, especially not Bea's daughter.

So what if the only person she wants approval from doesn't like her? So what if Debbie Smith, whose life will forever be intertwined with hers from now on, doesn't accept her? So what if her girlfriend's daughter tells her she doesn't want her in the family?

It'll be fine, right?

She knocks on the door lightly and gets no answer. She shoots a look at the clock and makes a decision.

"Rise and shine, it's nearly noon," she nearly sings, slamming the door open and making Debbie jumps in her bed from the noise.

Debbie looks like she's been shocked back to life.

"What's happening?" she blurts out quickly, blinking the fatigue away.

"Come eat breakfast. You don't want to spend the entire day sleeping."

"I'm not hungry."

"You'll keep me company then! I don't want to eat alone, it's boring. And you can't stay in bed all day either, it's even more tragic," Allie pronounces with an overly invested tone, like Debbie is her last chance to win her fight against boredom.

"Would you rather I go out and get gear?" Debbie snaps back, harsher than she means to.

"You're not a morning person either, I see," Allie replies, unbothered. "Just like your mom. Can't believe I didn't see it coming."

"Sorry," Debbie quickly replies, already feeling the need to pop a pill in her mouth now that she's awake. "I didn't mean to attack you." The hospital might have cured her from her overdose, it hadn't been able to make her psychological addiction away. She feels different without her drugs, and she doesn't like it. "I don't want to get up, leave me alone, please?"

"No way. You're not spending your first day back stuck here."

"I'm jet lagged and I'm tired, and I really don't want to socialize. Where's mom?"

She feels like getting out of bed would take so much energy that she would fall unconscious as soon as her feet would touch the floor. The covers weight a million tons and there's chains tying her to the bedpost. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to get up.

Unless she had heroin.

She's fucked.

"At work. And you'll get used to our time much faster if you get up now. And Bea made me promise I'd look after you, so it's not up for discussion. She would kill me if I didn't take care of you."

Debbie answers by pulling the covers above her head, but Allie won't have any of this. She was an annoying asshole while she was hooked on drugs and trying to get off them, and she's more than equipped to deal with Debbie.

"You will not do this to me," Allie declares, pulling back the covers and dragging Debbie out of the bed until the young woman is standing up. "You've gone to uni. You had to wake up before the sun was up. You had to study all night and survive on coffee, I presume. You can get your ass out of bed."

Debbie moans like she's in pain, but she stands up and nods hesitantly.

Now that she's up, her mind is no longer able to tame the storm of malicious thoughts.

Drugs. Drugs. Drugs.

"Come on then," Allie encourages her. "Breakfast's served."

Allie walks back to the kitchen, soon followed by Debbie.

Allie eats in silence, carefully tiptoeing around Debbie. There's so much tension that she momentarily believes that she's a monster and that Debbie fears her like death. She tries not to look at Debbie too often, but she ends up staring at the ceiling and the awkwardness just keeps increasing until she is one with it.

"Look," she blurts out suddenly, unable to support this any longer, "I know you don't know me much, and you're probably not happy with having to share a place with us after living on your own, but it's only temporary if you get your shit together."

Debbie nods, poking holes in her bread with her knife. She wears a lost expression on her face, like she doesn't remember how to act like a proper human being. She looks like a small child locked in an adult body, and Allie finds herself wanting to protect her despite everything.

"Who are you even?" Debbie asks with a small voice.

"Allie Novak," Allie laughs.

"Who are you really?"

"I'm your mom's most passionate lover," she grins harder, wiggling her eyebrows and throwing all subtleties out of the window in the hopes that it will cut the tension.

"Ew?! Why?!" Debbie replies with a look of disgust in her face as she tries to survive the sudden attack of unpleasant images in her mind. "You didn't have to say that!"

"You asked for it," Allie winks. "I'm Allie. I make suspicious jokes, and I'm probably the last person you want to speak with right now, and frankly I'm not so sure I want to be around your grouchy behavior either… But we're stuck together all day, so you better accept it now."

Debbie shrugs, still looking at the blonde with a concerned look in her eyes, like she isn't sure whether to let her guard down or not. She looks down at her food for a while. There's no doubt her mother would want her to get along with Allie, but there's this feeling in her chest that she can't quite ignore. A protective feeling.

Allie may look innocent and nice and full of good intentions, but what if she turns out to be a terrible person too? What if she's another Harry in disguise, praying on the vulnerable and waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

Debbie might be exhausted and brainwashed by the idea of drugs, but she's still incapable of forgetting the madness she's witnessed too many times.

And sure, she's asked Allie about it before, but people change, feelings change, the truth gets spoiled and everything can become pretty awful, so being paranoid a little really can't hurt.

"Are you happy to be back here?" Allie asks gently.

"I don't know," Debbie replies slowly, like she fears Allie's reaction.

"You'd rather still be over there?" Allie asks curiously, trying to keep her tone light.

"I don't know."

"You'd rather still be in a coma?" Allie insists, half serious.

"I don't know! Maybe. So what?"

"What do you want from us?" Allie asks, as nicely as she can, a nagging feeling in her chest at the taunting _maybe_.

Healthy people don't wish they were in a coma, she thinks.

"I don't – "

Allie rolls her eyes to the sky, slightly irritated.

This day is setting up to be the longest one of her life.

"Well, what do you know then?" she interrupts Debbie's usual tone.

"Nothing!" Debbie claims loudly like it's obvious and Allie should be able to read her mind, like Allie should be able to see that giant grey cloud above her head that prevents her from knowing anything at all. "I don't know anything anymore! I was oversea for months and then I almost died."

She sighs deeply and takes the piece of bread in her hand. She looks at it from all the angles before she puts it back down.

"I thought coming back here, being home with mom - I thought it would help me figure out what to do. She's my mother, you know? She has all the answers to all the questions. She knows everything. I thought she could tell me what to do, but I'm - I'm not home anymore. It doesn't feel like it. Now, you're here and this place is new and nothing is the same."

"Don't you think it's a good thing, that nothing is the same?" Allie points out, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm happy for mom. I just can't help but feel like I don't have place here. I don't belong. I had a group in America. A terrible group, yes, but still, people didn't look at me like I was a complete failure. People just took me in. I know you may not understand, but I still want that feeling, that euphoria. Even if it almost cost me my life."

Allie nods silently, knowing that the simple admission must have taken an inhuman effort for Debbie. She gets it. She never really wanted to leave the streets until she did. She never really wanted to stop the drugs until she did.

She crosses her arms on her chest and looks at Debbie.

"Bea went to America for you. She stayed there. She brought you back. She supports you despite all the stupidities you believe in. How can you say she doesn't want you here? She does. So do I, believe it or not," Allie adds. She would much rather have Debbie here than the opposite.

Debbie frowns, suspicious. Her already bruised heart stops her from believing anything.

"Why are you talking to me like you care?"

"Because I do. Why are you insisting so hard that I don't care?" Allie fires back, not missing a single beat. "Do you want me to not care about you? Would that make you feel better? Would it make easier for you?"

Debbie stares at her for a long time, debating what to say and how to say it. She's somehow starting to see what her mother sees in this woman. She locks her stare into Allie's, challenging her quietly before she does it openly.

"You wanted to kill my dad," she states bleakly, eyes analyzing Allie's smallest reactions.

She can't imagine a world in which her father would not exist, but she can't imagine a world in which he would get his happy ending either. It's confusing and it makes her feel like she doesn't deserve to be alive either.

Allie stops moving for a moment. She could deny it, but Debbie knows, so it would only add fuel to the fire. She didn't expect Debbie to bring the subject right now, so early in the morning, but so late in their lives.

She doesn't know what to answer. Any misplaced word could be the end of everything. But if she remains quiet, this balance she's built might just be destroyed too.

"I didn't," Allie replies solemnly.

She doesn't want to direct this part of the conversation. She waits for Debbie to continue, to hint her on what is going to happen next.

"You expect me to believe that?" Debbie murmurs, leaning forward in a threatening way, her mouth twisted in anger. "I know what you did. Don't try to deny it."

Allie can't tell whether Debbie is happy or sad about this.

"You don't have all the details. I didn't want him to _die_. I wanted him to be _afraid._ Like Bea was, all of her life. I wanted him to feel like he wasn't in control, for once," Allie says with strong voice.

Debbie purses her lips. She's not nearly done with her food, but she might throw up if she eats a single crumb.

"And you didn't go through it," she asks like she's a police officer interrogating the main suspect of an investigation and she doesn't believe anything she's been told.

"I didn't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Allie smirks, giving Debbie a taste of her own medicine. "I didn't want your mom to hate me, maybe? Relationships and all that, you know? I doubt she'd appreciate me being a murderer. It's dating 101, haven't you been told?" She adds with a playful tone.

Debbie blinks a few times, turning the strange answer in her head many times before she accepts it.

"Are you going to tell him?" Allie challenges. "Go back to your father?"

Debbie shakes her head, but it's weak and unconvincing.

It's still a crime.

"If you tell him," Allie warns, "you're condemning us. He'll find a way to turn this against your mom, so she'll go down too. It's not just me, you can't be naïve enough to believe that I'll be the only one affected."

Debbie listens, trying to find a flaw in Allie's words, but she can't, and it breaks her a little more than she already is.

"My parents kicked me out for being a lesbian. Your mother took you back in after you overdosed. The least you can do is be grateful for what you have. I didn't have that support. I didn't have a loving mother who would take me back, but you do. The least you can do is let her be happy. And too bad for you, I'm part of that too."

"I won't tell him," Debbie says with a trembling, hoarse voice.

"Promise?"

"Yes."

Debbie looks at her like she needs someone to tell her what to do.

Allie doesn't know how to communicate with someone who's a child and an adult at the same time.

"I'm tired," Debbie sighs, shifting her attention back on the walls around them, and between them.

It's an enormous wall, and Allie can't climb over it, can't walk around it, can't reach over and give Debbie a hand to bring her to the luminous side. She can't break through it. She can only stare at the bricks and feel Debbie's presence on the other side, and hope that Debbie won't be lured by the pretty sight of colorful substances.

Debbie needs to find her own way to join her before the wall falls apart and buries her under its heavy bricks.

"When is mom coming back?" Debbie asks like it's the most important question in the world right now.

It's instinctive. No matter what happen, even when she's older and supposedly wiser, her mother will always be the one person she'll turn to for help.

"You're stuck with me for a while, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Then stop acting like one," Allie says, dropping an imaginary mic while whispering _boom_.

She thinks she sees a slight smile appear on Debbie's face, and she savors the small victory.

"Now come on, finish your food," Allie nudges Debbie's side with her elbow while pushing the plate closer to her.

"Still not a kid," Debbie stubbornly repeats like a child.

"Got it."

She glances at Debbie a few more times before her heart starts aching again.

Debbie doesn't eat anything for breakfast.

* * *

Debbie quickly glances behind her, wondering if Allie will follow her even inside the bathroom.

She said she was going to take a shower but the moment she locks the bathroom door, she crumbles to the floor and hides her face in her hands. She can hear the dishes making all kinds of clicking sounds as Allie washes them in the kitchen, and it just reminds her that she isn't alone, that she probably will never be trusted to stay alone again.

Where does she go from here?

The exhaustion is getting heavier and heavier, and she's wondering if she'll be able to wake up tomorrow.

The emptiness is growing larger and deeper, and it doesn't mater that she _wants_ to feel something, anything. She _can't._

The addiction is still plaguing her mind. It didn't disappear like she'd prayed for before she fell asleep last night

It got stronger. It got more threatening. It's taking more and more place in her heart as she sits still.

It's all new and she can't help but wonder if this is how she's meant to live from now on.

Will addiction become her best friend? Her lover? Her one and only true soulmate?

Was it always meant to be this way, from the very first second she came into this world?

She doesn't know anyone like her.

She doesn't know anyone who's lived in a dysfunctional family like hers. She can't compare herself, can't define _normal_ anymore. Even in the United States, she couldn't. The group of friends she had came from privileged backgrounds, with its members snorting crack they'd bought with money given by their wealthy parents. They'd acted so happy, so free, that she'd instantly been pulled in. She'd instantly nestled herself in to Brayden's arms.

Her first love may have been based on lies, the heartbreak is too real to tolerate.

Everything was fake and she's left with one haunting question.

What do people like _her_ do?

She thinks that maybe, they live alone because they can't get attached to anyone. She imagines they get high on independence and drunk on a fake belief that love is a luxury. She imagines they don't run to artificial paradises at the first sight of difficulty because they know that it could be so much worse.

And there she is, wanting to sleep for days and weeks and months and years, and maybe decades, if her body will let her.

She's a fucking failure, if someone asks.

"You okay?" Allie asks from the other side of the door. "I don't hear anything."

She's a fucking failure with a babysitter, she mentally corrects, even though a part of her appreciates the concern.

"I'm fine," she lies.

"You're really more and more like your mother, you know?" Allie replies right away, and Debbie swears she can heart the smile through the door.

She doesn't reply.

She lets her clothes fall to the floor and closes her eyes to dismiss the fact that she's sickly thin.

When the water hits her, she turns the temperature high until it's so hot that she can pretend it's her pain that is being set ablaze, and not her skin.

* * *

"I'm sorry, this is too hot."

Bea's bubble of thoughts explodes like a firework.

She fumbles with the faucet for a few seconds until the water reaches a lower temperature.

"Sorry about that," she apologizes to her client.

"It's fine," the woman smiles understandingly. There's a silver necklace around her neck and a ring around her finger, and everything is shining brightly like they were bought yesterday.

Bea washes the woman's head quickly before she moves on to the next step. The salon is bursting with life and casual chatters, and when she thinks she might have a break, she gets pulled right back in the hurricane. She feels the coins in her pocket. It's the first tips she's had in a while, and she makes a silent promise to herself not to let them go to waste.

She doesn't mind the hustle and the hard work. It takes her mind off more troubling thoughts, except when it doesn't. She's halfway through the day already and she's finding it harder to focus on her job. She loves the feel of the scissors in her hand, and the smiles of satisfaction she receives when she's done with a client. It reminds her that this is really something she loves doing, something she's missed for far too long.

Her memory of a dark night with razor blades dancing in her eyesight is long gone.

Her memory of a vibrant evening made perfect by a soft kiss dances in her mind. If she were to look down on her skin, she'd find no scars, no sign that she fell apart before.

She's clean now, and every day, she hopes that it remains this way.

This place, she thinks, is amazing. A goldmine for opportunities.

"What do you want today?" she asks, smiling professionally at her client.

As she listens to the answer, she nods and starts to plan the way to go. She takes the scissors in her hand, feels the metal, soft and cold, against her skin. She's been told too many times that scissors were dangerous when she was a child. Who would have thought that they'd be her weapon of choice today, and that she'd earn money for manipulating it with a calculated precision?

A small dot of dark ink disturbs the clean surface of her mind.

She wonders if this woman is as happy as she seems to be, if her marriage is as successful as it appears to be to a stranger's eyes. She wonders if she's having a good day, or if she's going home to a monster. She wonders if this woman would kill to save her life, would murder to save her daughter.

Her vision of the world is forever changed, and there's nothing she can do about it.

She starts to imagine those scissors slicing through a young man's throat, the same man who has stolen her daughter's sanity. She starts to imagine the blood she'd spill and the life she'd steal. _He hurt my little girl_ , she'd tell herself, making up excuses to cover the fact that it's a criminal offense.

She takes a deep breath. She dismisses the thought, but for a moment, she's scared of herself, of her ability to hurt someone else, of her motivation to inflict pain to another human being, and she realizes this is the closest she'll ever come to understand what Allie has felt too.

She wonders if this feeling can be escaped.

She wonders if love is so intimately connected to hatred that this is inevitable.

She focuses her attention on the customer. Maybe this woman has a good life, a family who loves and cares for her, and a dozen projects she can't wait to work on. Maybe she has no idea that a dark side even exists.

Bea blinks and grounds herself back to where she is.

She won't ruin this. She's almost there, almost right where she wants to be.

She just has to take that jump, to trust once and for all that someone like her deserves happiness.

* * *

"Trust me, it'll be fun!" Allie's insistent voice resonates in the apartment as she gesticulates to the door.

"I don't want to go out with you," Debbie stubbornly wines, arms crossed against her chest while she leans against the doorway.

"Well, frankly, I only asked out of politeness, because you have no choice. Bea wants me to look after you, and I can't stay inside all day or I'll go mad. So you're coming whether you want it or not because if _I_ go mad, you can be certain that your mother will too."

"You can't make me come with you!"

Allie throws an evil look at the younger woman.

"I can and I will. Now, are you going to walk or will I have to drag you out? Don't trust my looks, I have the strength to carry you. I lived in the streets for years, you got nothing on me," Allie replies.

Debbie jolts back at Allie's admission and growls in resignation.

"Fine. But I'm not talking to you."

"Fine."

Allie lets Debbie walks in front of her and mentally gives herself a high five. She's getting good at this, and the day is turning to be slightly less of a disaster than she had expected it to be. She locks the door and refrains from rolling her eyes again when she notices that Bea's daughter is several steps ahead of her, clearly not keen on waiting for her.

She skips a few steps and joins her within seconds. She doesn't lead the way. She walks at the same pace as Debbie's, not wanting to act like she's the one directing them. She glances at her a few times, but Debbie's mask is well in place, and nothing betrays what she is feeling. She directs her eyes to the blue sky. It's slightly colder today, and she's wearing a light jacket over her shirt, but Debbie seems to have no trouble wearing a t-shirt outside.

She doesn't really believe that Debbie will keep walking with her. She thinks that Debbie will run away or hide somewhere along the way. She thinks that Debbie will lie and tell her she's got somewhere to be. She thinks that Debbie will take this opportunity to punch her and then take advantage of this distraction to leave her careful guardian.

Amongst all of her nightmarish scenarios, one of them particularly makes her blood boil: she imagines Debbie escaping to Harry's place, and having to explain to Bea that she lost her for good.

"We're visiting a friend," Allie almost sings, pointing ahead. "We won't stay long, I just need to go today."

Next to her, Debbie just stares at the street like she's seeing something Allie doesn't. She's lost in her thoughts, getting a new taste of the city now that she can walk through its streets for the first time since she left Australia the second time. She recognizes a few places, even though the district is different from her old one, but it all feels strange, like she's just in a parallel universe where everything is the same, except for her.

Everyone is alive, and happy, and making plans and sharing ideas, and she feels like her brain is shutting down a bit more every day. Everyone is talking and laughing and even crying, and she hasn't cried since yesterday when she came back. Everyone seems to know everything, and she's just here, walking on automatic mode because it's the only thing she can do right now.

It's the only thing she can think of. It's the only action that makes sense to her, that won't send her flying six feet under. Left foot. Right foot. One, two, one, two. Maybe if she keeps focusing on her feet, it'll help her not focus on the bigger issues in her life. Yes. That must be the only way to do it, to avoid reality.

She looks up after a while, only to find Allie staring back at her with a worried look. They've arrived at an intersection she doesn't recognize, and when she looks around, she sees a couple of shops, a few people walking around, and a homeless teenager staring at them from a few meters down the road.

"You were lost for a moment," Allie whispers. "Are you okay?"

Debbie shrugs, like no matter what she answers, it won't be enough.

"Oh right, you're not talking. You'll be pleased to know that we'll meet someone who's also not talking so… fun times for me, I guess." Allie winks joyfully. "Come on."

Allie guides Debbie to the other girl, whose wary eyes are scanning the two women.

"Sorry I didn't come yesterday. You gave me permission though. I brought someone today, hope you don't mind," Allie declares as she sits next to the homeless girl like it's the most normal thing to do. She gestures for Debbie to do the same and waits patiently.

Debbie stares at her like she's lost her mind.

The teenager notices. Of course, she does, how could she not? She's seen those looks all her life.

She gets up and throws a disappointed look at Allie, like she can't believe Allie would bring someone else to _their_ meetings.

And Allie doesn't blink, doesn't look away, doesn't flinch at all.

"She's harmless," Allie says detachedly, like she knew from the very start that this would happen. "She's my girlfriend's daughter. I'm babysitting today."

Debbie rolls her eyes and sits down, unimpressed, while the teenager stands still.

The girl's eyes go from Allie to Debbie, to Allie again.

She seems to think of the greatest problems in the world before she makes the choice to sit back. She quietly accepts that Debbie isn't here to try to drag her to a terrible foster home. She doesn't say anything, but she nods, like she always does to signal Allie that they can stay in this place that she calls her own.

"I just came to check on you today. We won't bother you for too long," Allie explains.

She knows the intrusion is probably the last thing the girl wants or needs, but she couldn't bear the idea of missing two days in a row. Somehow, she thinks it would have been worse to not show up than to bring Debbie with her. It is best to come and stay only a little, than to not show up and have the girl thinks she's forgotten about her, especially when they've been making progress.

It is much easier to break someone's trust than to earn it, and Allie doesn't need anyone to teach her this.

"How are you?"

The girl pokes her hat with her shoe.

A bad day. The hat's empty, and if it keeps going this way, she won't have access to any food for tonight, Allie understands immediately.

"Sucks to be you," Allie states dryly, well aware that it is the understatement of the year and that it might be wrong to say. She doesn't care. She knows the girl won't either.

And she's right, the girl nods once and doesn't say anything, and Debbie watches the exchange with intrigued eyes.

"What's new in the streets? Found a way out yet?" Allie asks with a teasing voice that's hiding a much bigger hope that the girl has somehow found an alternative lifestyle.

There's only silence as a reply, and Allie knows that she shouldn't push too much today, because Debbie's presence is new, and dangerous.

Anything new is dangerous in the streets.

"Have you thought about everything I told you last time?" Allie asks, before she turns to Debbie to whisper quickly. "I told her about my life story. Not a happy one. You haven't earned the right to know about it yet, but maybe someday."

Debbie opens her mouth to ask something, but Allie presses a finger to her lips, shutting down every noise that might have come out.

"This is a special moment for us," Allie whispers. "I'm afraid you're going to need to stay silent and observe."

Debbie sighs and is forced to agree. She wonders why she came here in the first place if she's just going to do nothing all day. She glances at the worn-out hat and the torn clothes on the teenager's body. She can see a lot from these clothes. She can see that the girl is poor and dirty, and that she can't afford new clothes. She can see that she is in need of a shower. She can see that she is struggling to go through her days.

She can see, but she cannot understand, so she stays silent.

She didn't expect Allie to have such a friendship with someone living in the streets, especially someone so young. Even though she doesn't quite feel it, she thinks her heart would ache at that situation.

"Are you going to seek help? You know, the help you don't need?" Allie pushes gently. "There's only so long you can depend on your hat. It's a nice hat, but it's not a meal or a bed."

Little steps.

Allie knows, from experience, that she can only do so much for the girl. She's not a professional, and she cannot find the perfect sentences that will change someone's like, but she's hoping that she can come close enough to make a small difference.

The first step is to plant a seed in the girl's head. Tell her that she might need help. And then, all Allie needs to do is to water the plant, and hope that it grows strong enough to move the girl's well-rooted, self destructive beliefs.

The girl sends her an annoyed look, as if she were to say _I know_ , but no sound comes out.

Allie nods apprehensively.

"I know that you know. You know everything. We all do, after all."

Allie pauses the conversation for a minute, letting her joke make an impression.

"I wish I knew what to say to make you move away from this place," she then says softly, with a fragile tone colored with honesty. "What to say to make you realize that this can only go on for so long before you get sucked in terrible places. No one is spared when they live in the streets, that I know."

The girl clears her throat. She glances at Debbie like she doesn't trust her, and then she keeps her attention on Allie.

"No one cares so why should I," the teenager states with an empty voice. "Someone stole my money today. They walked by and grabbed it, and ran away."

The truth reaches within Allie's chest and squeezes her heart, and then it moves to Debbie's lungs and robs the air out of them. There is too much pain in those words, too much sorrow, and too much despair.

"I care," Allie boldly says. She knows it's not much, and she knows she's still a nameless stranger, but she imagines it is the best answer she can give under these circumstances.

The girl shakes her head lightly like she's not worthy of any reassurance, any affection at all. If her own parents didn't want her, who could ever? If her own family kicked her out, who could ever welcome her?

If who she loves matters so much to the world that she might be bullied, and tortured, and murdered for it, why should she keep doing it? Why should she stay that way? Why should she keep this identity of hers rather than creating a new one, one that won't get her kicked out, or bullied, or tortured, or murdered? Wouldn't it be easier to just pretend to be someone else?

It's unfair. It's so stupidly unfair that she wishes she could gather enough courage to go back to the place she no longer calls home, and scream at her parents. Yell at them. Force them to admit that they made a mistake, just so she can move on with her life because she's damn tired of being here.

She's tired of everything and she wishes she could shut down her feelings.

Today so far has just been another deception.

"You're angry. Maybe a little sad. Maybe you feel betrayed, too, and you're staying at that place because it's the only thing you still feel. You can't feel happiness, so instead, you feel anger, and sadness, and pain, because those are the only emotions keeping you from becoming a machine."

The teenager doesn't respond and Allie keeps talking, keeps analyzing and crossing boundaries that she isn't sure she should. She's walking into enemy territory, and she prays that she won't be hit by a bullet.

"Be angry."

The girl closes her eyes like the sun is personally attacking her with its brightest sunrays and its promises of a better tomorrow.

"Be fucking furious about this, it's your right."

And then, like a magical revelation, Allie finds the right thing to say, retrieves it from a long lost memory that she never wants to forget.

A hazy night with a woman, a stranger who paid her to have sex. A few abandoned bills on the floor while they'd pushed each other on a cheap motel room bed. Clothes flying around them, and kisses that turned into bites, which turned into bruises on pale skins. And then, in the mist of it all, an embrace, a caress, and the softest look she'd ever received.

The only client who treated her like she wasn't a prostitute.

The only person who ever treated her like a human being while she was working.

At dawn, she'd woken up to a piece of paper with two words on it, and she'd never seen that woman again.

 _Be brave._

"Be brave," she repeats to the girl, finding inspiration in those scarred eyes. "You already are, you know? I'm not telling you to be someone you're not. I'm just saying, stay like this. Stay brave. Don't lose that ability to feel. To feel sadness and pain, and heartbreak. Don't lose that. It's what makes you human. It's what makes you real."

The girl blinks, as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't, because Debbie is here, and she doesn't know Debbie.

"Be brave enough to allow yourself to feel all of this. And one day, you'll find yourself feeling joy, and bliss, and love."

Allie pauses, thinking of the right way to convert her thoughts into words.

She doubts herself for a moment and wants to take back those words. Bravery, is it really what this is about? Maybe not. But for the lack of a better term, she'll use it, and hopes that her message reaches through.

She's too aware that Debbie is listening and that this might affect her too, and she doesn't want to mess up. An immense pressure lands on her shoulder, and crushing expectations fall around her like nuclear bombs.

"Be brave and, when you're ready, find someone to be brave with you."

The girl looks at her like it's all beautiful lies.

And then she looks at her like she might just choose to believe them.

* * *

"Be brave, really?" Debbie asks with an incredulity. "So if she doesn't do anything, she's not brave? If she stays there, she's weak? If she doesn't feel anything, she's not brave?" She asks, feeling personally attacked by that statement.

Because she doesn't feel much nowadays.

Allie turns to looks at her.

"No. I told her, she's already brave. She just needs a reminder, don't you think? Emptiness is a feeling. Everyone feels, even when they think they don't. Everyone is brave, even when they're convinced, they're not."

They are walking back to the apartment and Debbie's confusion never leaves her.

"Why do you do this?" Debbie frowns, kicking a few rocks out of her way. "You don't know her and you just – what, go there and talk to her? Isn't it dangerous? What if she tries something?"

Allie laughs loudly, so loud that someone walking on the other side of the street looks at them.

"Well, Debbie Smith, are you worried about me?"

Debbie doesn't say anything.

She says everything at the same time.

"I do it because I want to help her like I wish someone would have helped me back when I was in the streets. I just want her to have a fair chance, you know?"

Debbie listens attentively. She doesn't ask anything. She imagines Allie will tell her more eventually, if she wants to.

"And I do it because I know she's listening," Allie adds. "It's much harder to help someone who doesn't want to be helped."

Debbie hears those words echo in her mind long after they are said.

"You need the right timing, the right words, the right tone and emotions. It's harder than you think," Allie explains. "I don't know why she hasn't punched me in the face yet, maybe she knows she couldn't rob anything off me, but who knows… No matter the reason, she's listening to me. Even if she hates what I say, even if she disagrees, she's listening. It's all that matters."

Debbie thinks about the conversation for the entire walk home.

She thinks about it so much that she almost walks into a tree and gets hit by a car, and Allie has a field day trying to keep her alive.

She thinks about it when they walk back inside and the door closes behind them, keeping the outside world out of their reach once again.

She thinks about it when she's about to go to her room and lock the door. She thinks about it while she's thinking of a nap she would never wake up from. She thinks about it while she's dreaming of a universe where heartbreaks wouldn't exist.

She thinks about it when she turns to Allie slowly and looks at her with vulnerable eyes that come from a place of honesty and hope.

"The world is horrible, but there are good people out there," Debbie breathes softly. "You are one of them."

The words travel through the air like the sweetest melody to have been played today.

Allie thinks that she's rarely heard something more daunting in her life.

* * *

Debbie gets a call from her father in the late afternoon, only a few minutes after they come back from the outside, terrifying world.

It isn't surprising. He's been trying to contact her for a while now. He probably doesn't have a clue that she's awake, that she's back in the country. Back in the hospital, she hadn't answered his calls because her mother was always in the room with her. It had been easy, she could just turn off the ringtone or pretend like it was someone she didn't want to talk to.

But now, there's no one to stop her. Allie is in the living room, oblivious to this moment.

The ringtone is at its lowest volume, but it still feels loud enough to make her ears bleed. She could become deaf from the way it sounds, aggressive and ruthless, and manipulating in its own way, while still being beautifully enchanting. It sounds like Fate, giving her an ultimate call before it drifts away, before it finally, _finally_ , accepts her decision.

She could answer.

She could answer and talk to her father, and offer him some sort of explanation. She could disclose the address, betray her mother's trust and safety, and go back to a life full of tempting lies. She could let herself be manipulated until her very last breath.

She could tell him everything, let the battle happen while she watches from the bleachers.

And the thought might have crossed her mind, before.

She might have thought about saving herself from a shitstorm of pain.

Before.

Before the overdose. Before the soul crushing realizations. Before the sight of Allie sitting on the sidewalk.

She sees the way Allie cares, for her mother, for the world itself, and all those in need. Objectively, she knows that Allie is a good person.

Subjectively, maybe this relationship will work. Maybe it won't. Maybe her mother truly has found her home again. Maybe it's only a temporary refuge that will burn down someday.

But she won't interfere, won't be responsible for her mother being broken again.

She watches her phone rings with emotionless eyes.

When it stops, she realizes she's been holding her breath and she gasps for air like she's born again.

She _is_ born again.

* * *

Allie throws the piece of paper on the floor. She groans when she looks at the dozen other pieces of paper lying around her. If she wanted to save the environment, it's an epic fail. If anything, she just helped murdering a couple more trees. She sighs and takes a new sheet, determined to create something minimally decent this time, but a few minutes later, it falls down to join its friends.

It's not her fault this pencil cannot draw well even if her life depends on it. And it's not her fault the paper doesn't want to fold itself neatly to create the best origami shapes in the world. And it's not her fault if the words in her head won't magically appear in the form of an exquisite poem. And it's certainly not her fault if her last two braincells are useless at making any type of plan for a celebration for Bea.

Why is everyone in this damn world extremely talented except her? Everyone is either an artist or a chef, or a musician, or a poet, or an intellectual with the key to happiness, and she's just sitting here, mourning her creativity.

She wishes she could take a break but there's no time. Bea will be back home within a few hours, and there's only so much she can do without any money and a half-empty apartment. She tries to brainstorm a couple of ideas, but nothing works, nothing seems good enough, and everything she thinks of is nowhere near what Bea deserves.

Bea deserves so much that Allie thinks she will never be able to find anything good enough.

She throws her pen away in frustration, somehow cursing Bea's existence for her own inability to find the perfect idea. It knocks on Debbie's door by accident, like a bullet with a missed target. It falls with a small thud and Debbie pokes her head out of her room, thinking Allie knocked for the umpteenth time to ask her if she's fine.

"Who's dead?" Debbie deadpans, seeing Allie with a dejected look, the complete opposite of the way the blonde appeared a few moments earlier in the streets.

Allie doesn't answer and Debbie frowns, thinking that this has to be the strangest sight she's witnessed all day because Allie talks. A lot. It didn't take her long to realize that.

"What's wrong?" Debbie asks curiously. "And why did you decorate the floor with paper?"

"Oh piss off," Allie replies jokingly with a trace of smile on her face. "I'm trying to find an idea for your mother."

Debbie takes a step outside of her room and then stops, unsure whether she really wants to know what is happening or not. This could either be really sweet, or it could scar her for the rest of her life, and she isn't sure she wants to find out which option it turns out to be. She decides to sit on the couch, at equal distance between Allie and her room, just in case she needs to escape.

"What kind of idea?"

Allie waits a few seconds, not quite believing that Debbie Smith is willingly making conversation with her.

"A date idea," Allie admits, making the bold move of joining Debbie on the couch. "Do you have one?" It feels strange to ask Debbie about it, and she thinks the younger woman might leave right this second, but to her surprise, she only receives another curious glance.

"A date idea?" Debbie repeats, mildly shocked.

It's like she's hearing that word for the first time.

 _Date_? For her mother?

Her father never took her mother on dates. He never spent his time in the living room, planning a date and wasting too much paper because he never could find the right idea. He never asked her what she thought her mother would like. He never looked so angry because he couldn't find a date idea. Generally, he was angry for many other things that were much less romantic.

She looks at Allie like she's seeing her with a new set of eyes.

"I just want to do something nice for her now that she's back and that she's got a job. We were tired last night so we fell asleep really quickly, and well, she left way too early for work so we didn't have time to – "

"Do not say another word," Debbie warns, voice tensed and arms raised in front of her.

"To talk!" Allie pronounces loudly. "Who's gross now?!"

Debbie waves her hands around her like she's trying to forget everything for a while because she takes a deep breath and turns to Allie again.

"I know what you could do," she answers slowly. "It might sound a bit weird, but I have an idea."

"Really? You'll help me?" Allie nearly shouts excitedly like she's just won the lottery.

Her eyes are shining like a thousand sunrays reflecting on the calm surface of the ocean and her grin could dazzle the blinds. She claps her hands together like a small child and Debbie cannot believe this woman ever tried to attack her father.

"Relax, you're going to have a heart attack before mom gets here, and then what am I supposed to do?!" Debbie shouts, waving her hands in front of Allie's face. "Hey mom, I killed your girlfriend?"

Allie beams at the mention of _girlfriend_ because it's a start. A small, impossible start.

"Ha! Didn't think you'd know how to make a joke," Allie snickers.

"Whatever."

"Sure, whatever."

Allie's shoulder bumps Debbie's in complicity while Debbie tells her the greatest plan.

She might just get used to Bea's daughter presence after all.

* * *

She could get used to Allie's presence.

Allie isn't the most terrible person in the world anymore. She's not a bomb waiting to go off and destroy everything her mother has worked for. She's not a betrayal waiting to pierce her mother's heart. She's not a creature of darkness ready to poison her mother's soul.

Allie might just be the ball of freaking sunshine she appears to be, and Debbie doesn't know how someone like this can exist in such a cruel world. People like Allie should be the stars of life itself.

Debbie wonders how she can exist in this world and be happy too, like Allie is.

She wonders how she can feel genuinely alive without the help of all the intoxicating substances that are a few dollars away from her. She doesn't think it's possible, and maybe that's the problem. She needs to believe it's possible.

But how?

Life without drugs was her mother being beaten by her father.

Life without drugs was her hiding in the closet and wrapping a scarf around her head to block the sounds of the dishes crashing on the walls.

Life without drugs was a succession of wounds so deep that she's still bleeding out, years later.

How does she believe that she can be happy again?

How does she believe that she can get her life back like her mother did?

The sun is long gone from the sky when she finally finds the answer.

* * *

Bea comes back home exhausted, pockets heavy with tips from customers. She feels a familiar ache in her body, the one that proves she had a productive day. She wouldn't mind feeling it every day.

She was hoping to find solace in Allie's arms, but the only presence that welcomes her is darkness.

The kitchen is drenched in the absence of light, the living room is no better, and so is the hallway leading to her bedroom. Her bedroom door is closed, and there's no sound, no shadows, no sign of life.

Bea glances around confusedly. The living room is empty, and the door leading to Debbie's room is closed. A light white shadow at the bottom is the only confirmation Bea has that there is someone on the other side of that door.

"Allie?" she calls out, stepping closer to her daughter's room.

She stopped by Erica's apartment before coming back, strictly to pay rent, but the woman insisted that she stayed for a talk, and now she's regretting it. She would hate if Allie went to sleep already because the last thing she wants is to live at work and neglect her relationship.

"Deb?"

The door slams open and Bea jumps back, adrenaline flowing inside her veins like the powerful drug it is. She feels like she's in an action movie and she's about to fight the villain for the first time.

Except it's not the villain that appears in front of her, it's the woman who has stolen her heart.

"Bea? You're home!" Allie smiles widely, hands nervously brushing her golden hair while she pushes the door to close it behind her. "I missed you!"

She races to Bea and pulls her in a tight hug, breathing in her familiar scent. She smiles when she feels Bea stepping a bit closer. She closes her eyes, taking her time to appreciate the way Bea feels against her. The proximity erases the longing ache she's felt all day, and she doesn't quite know how she made it to tonight.

They've only spent a few hours apart, but Allie feels like she's barely survived it all.

But it doesn't matter anymore, because they're back together, and they have hours before Bea needs to leave again.

If this is how it will be for the rest of her life, Allie won't complain. She'll get to jump in Bea's arms everyday. She'll get to love her everyday.

"Are you okay?" Bea asks gently, pleasantly surprised at the sudden embrace, but still remembering that Allie came out from Debbie's room. "Did Debbie give you a speech?"

Bea feels her entire body buzzing when she senses Allie giggling against her. This is what joy feels like, she thinks, and happiness is born from that simple gesture, that simple feeling.

The butterflies in her stomach turns to elephants stomping all over her insides, and she momentarily feels dizzy with this powerful feeling. For a second, she doesn't think she'll need food or water, or anything else to survive. Just this feeling.

"No way, I wouldn't let her," Allie grins with the same elephants in her stomach. "I was just checking if she was alright."

"Were you really?" Bea wonders, gazing at Allie's eyes worryingly, reminding the blonde that lies shall never have a place in their life again.

"Yes, I was. And I was talking to her. We got along fine today, you know?"

Bea leans towards Allie to steal a chaste kiss.

"Did you?" she grins in complicity. "Really?"

"Yeah," Allie simply replies, swooning at the natural way Bea pressed her lips to hers. She smiles innocently. "I swear."

Bea nods carefully, doubt creeping up in her heart.

"How is she?"

"She's adjusting. I think it might take a while, but the Allie charm is working on her too."

Bea chuckles at Allie's confidence. Others might find it annoying, but it's what she loves most about the blonde. Confidence. A superpower that grants anyone access to the top of the world.

"Now come with me, we're going out," Allie declares, tugging her hand in hers. "I discovered a park today."

"It's late," Bea frowns. "You really want to go out?"

"Please?" Allie pleads.

Bea knows right now that she will never be able to say _no_ to Allie's best pleading voice. But there is Debbie now, and their nocturnal escapades no longer feel safe.

Bea points to Debbie's room and Allie's face falls for a second, like she had forgotten about this obvious situation. It doesn't last.

"Come to the bedroom then. I have something for you," she smirks suggestively.

It makes Bea nervous for a moment, before she notices the mocking shade in Allie's eyes. She playfully hits Allie's shoulder, feelings of relief and disappointment fighting in her mind. She doesn't mind _thinking_ about what could happen. She minds the actions, the fulfilment of these thoughts.

But that is a problem for later, she thinks while her feet have a mind of their own and she follows Allie in the hallway.

They race each other to the bedroom, and when Bea opens the door, the hurt in her feet disappears, her sore back suddenly lessens, and the beginning of a headache vanishes as well. All that remains are the awe and excitement over the scene that presents itself to her, and she feels like she might start squealing like she's back to childhood.

Drapes and sheets, and blankets, all dancing across the room, are hovering above her head.

Gravity is being challenged by the strange shapes of the moving roof that seems to be floating in the air without any attachment to the ground.

A dimmed light is coming from an unknown source. It illuminates this strange set up and adds a magical touch to the atmosphere.

There are more blankets on the floor and the mattress is waiting for them to lie on it and forget the rest of the world.

The whole scene would make no sense to a serious eye. It would look like a mess to people who have left their youth behind, like a childish game that adults shouldn't participate in anymore. It would appear to be a waste of time, a useless hobby.

But to Bea, it looks like a well-crafted dream, something that comes directly from an old reality and a land of imagination.

It's not longer an ordinary bedroom. It's a majestic blanket fort rising from the ground to protect her from the evils of this world.

She turns to Allie like she can't quite believe the sight. She sees the blonde looking back at her with insecurities living in her blue eyes.

"It's a blanket fort. Debbie told me that you would like it. It's for us. I - I wanted to do something for you," Allie stammers shyly, losing her composure when she talks about it because the idea suddenly seems terrible. "I wanted to celebrate, Bea. You're back."

"But why?" Bea breathes out. "It's beautiful."

She walks inside the room, closely followed by Allie. The door shuts behind them, forever trapping them in a reverie. She reaches out for the highest sheet with a trembling hand. The material is soft, like velvet. Softer than the ones she knows she owns. She wonders where they come from because she doesn't remember buying them, and she certainly doesn't remember having so many of them.

Every step she takes brings her farther from the apartment and closer to the fantasy.

Every breath she takes reminds her that she is alive and that she isn't making this all up in her head.

Every time a sheet brushes against the top of her head, she feels the urge to sit down and pretends like this is her very own castle in the sky.

"You have a job. You have an apartment. You have your daughter. You have me. But mostly, you have you," Allie enumerates. "You may think you don't have your life back yet, but you do. And I'm so proud of you, so happy for you. And we didn't get to celebrate last night, so I'm asking that we do tonight with some quality time. And I swear I don't mean this in a dirty way," she adds quickly.

Allie sits down and waits for Bea to do the same. She watches Bea with loving eyes while Bea takes in their surroundings once again.

Allie spent nearly an hour building this, with Debbie's help. Or rather, she spent an hour listening to Debbie's incessant instructions on how to make everything perfect and then she got frustrated, and just put a sheet on her head and pretended to be a ghost for a while. Regardless, without Debbie, she wouldn't have been able to make this look nearly as good as it does right now.

Debbie even bought extra sheets, with her own money from her savings account, and Allie had felt so bad that she'd told her she'd pay her back as soon as possible.

"I can't believe it. You didn't have to do this," Bea says, sitting right next to Allie and immediately leaning into her arms. This is where she wants to be for now on and forevermore.

"It's not much," Allie dismisses. "I wanted to. And Debbie helped."

Bea's smile widens.

"She did? Of course, she did," Bea says pensively before something crosses her mind. "But I didn't do anything special. I just did what I needed to do."

"It's a lot," Allie praises, "you may not see it this way because you were on survival mode, but you achieved so much. When I met you, do you have any idea what you looked like? You were so lost, it broke my heart even if I didn't know you. And I had the urge to go to that bench to see what was happening. And now… I've only known you for a couple months, and I can't wait to see what you will do in years, how far you will go."

"I still have to convince Ha – "

"No!" Allie screams, momentarily making Allie deaf. "No mention of you-know-who in this place. This is for us, and only us."

Bea nods in agreement. This is for them.

This is for their present and their future.

This is to laugh at their past like it means nothing.

"Why did you want to go outside so badly if this was all here?"

Allie rests her head on Bea's shoulder and she doesn't answer immediately. She lets them find solace in their private shrine.

Blanket forts make everything better, she thinks.

Every word that is shared under their roof holds more meaning. Every promise becomes unbreakable. Every secret strengthens their relationship. Even time has no choice but to respect their boundaries. Time cannot enter these places, cannot dictate their actions anymore.

"I just wanted you to see the park," Allie shrugs. "We have a thing with those."

"Then make me see it," Bea challenges playfully.

She has a small arrogant grin on her face and Allie's eyes are filled with wickedness when she leans down and kisses Bea's temple lightly. She presses a few more kisses all over her face until Bea is laughing freely in her arms again.

Allie could stay this way all night. Sleep doesn't exist for reacquainting lovers.

"Imagine a park that's smaller than the one where we met," she narrates close to Bea's ear, enough to make goosebumps appear on Bea's arms. "It doesn't have as many trees, but there's a small hill that's still high enough to see a landscape of the district. And there's a small bench that's half broken, but that still seems strong enough to support anyone sitting on it. There's one streetlamp to light up this space. And there's a small blue slide for children to enjoy."

Bea closes her eyes while her imagination follows Allie's guidance. She has no trouble picturing the place in her mind. Allie's voice is like a symphony she never wants to stop listening to.

"There are birds singing despite the late hours. The trees are the colors of chocolate and mint twirling together, and the grass looks like it was placed there just yesterday because it's shining so much under the moonlight. The air smells like late summer nights spent falling in love with a stranger. The soil beneath your feet is soft, softer than concrete, and it reminds you of how a cloud would feel if you were to step on it."

Allie feels Bea's heartbeat quickens and it brings a caring smile in her face.

"And we are in the middle of it all, watching the stars even though it's hard. And then I give up and I decide to look into your eyes instead, because that's where the brightest dots are."

Bea rolls her eyes playfully at Allie's tentative to woo her.

"You had it until the end," she chuckles. "And then you ruined it, you fool."

"I just wanted you to see the park," Allie repeats lightly, like it's obvious, and like she didn't become a poet for a moment. "And me. Always look at me."

"Everything started at a park," Bea recalls fondly. "It's only logical that our new beginning does too. Thank you."

"We'll go back one day," Allie swears.

Bea smiles like she knows they will. It is inevitable.

"I missed you," Allie says out of the blue. "I don't know how I did while you were oversea. It's all a blur."

"Me too," Bea sighs. "I'm just happy to be home."

"Can we pretend this never happened?" Allie wonders.

Can they pretend so many things never happened? Can they pretend they were never apart? Can they pretend they were never suffering? Can they pretend they were never hopeless?

"There are parts I want to remember," Bea points out. "How you showed me you cared during our calls or how you always supported me, and wished for Debbie to wake up."

Allie hums quietly and positions herself more comfortably to steal another kiss. Bea's lips are full against her own and the sweet taste makes her wonder if Bea's eaten something recently. It doesn't matter. It only makes it all better.

"I care so much about you," she murmurs, lips brushing against Bea's and tickling them until they curve up.

She deepens the kiss and loses herself in the way Bea feels against her lips. It clouds her mind and makes her believe that if anything were to happen right now, she'd let it happen before she'd even think of putting a stop to the kiss. She feels an electrical shock travelling down her body and stopping right between her legs when Bea presses against her and makes them lay on the ground.

The universe explodes when Bea suddenly moves to straddle her.

It's so unexpected that she thinks she might pass out from the sudden heat wave that hits her. She refuses to, afraid that this would mean the contact would break. She feels one of Bea's hands moving from the back of her neck to her side, settling on the curve of her breast. It instantly frees a pleading moan from the back of her throat and she feels Bea's body shaking against hers in return.

She lets herself be dominated for a while, scared to make any harsh movement, afraid that she might rush things. Bea's body is pinning hers down. When Bea's breasts press deliciously against hers, Allie marvels at the way she would be ready to be taken right this second.

Bea takes her time to explore her mouth, creating choreographies with their tongues while they both fight to dismiss the need for air. Allie thinks she could die from the way Bea carefully opens her eyes when she moves back ever so slightly and looks at her with a conflicted look made of fear and desire.

Allie thinks she should slow down, stop this before it's too late, but her actions are impulsive and driven by lust. She reaches up and bites Bea's lower lip before she moves her head to the side, hot breath sliding on Bea's cheek for a second. She pulls Bea closer and nests her face in the crook of Bea's neck, only to find the softest inch of skin and start sucking on it.

She hears Bea's breath catches in her throat and she smiles, hands reaching for Bea's hips to make them roll against hers. She immediately regrets it when more shockwaves travel through her so many times that she thinks it might never stop.

In a second of clarity, she rests her hands on Bea's lower back instead, stopping the excruciating motion.

It's enough to make Bea realizes what is happening. She snaps out of her drunken state of mind and free her neck from Allie's greedy lips. She sits up on top of Allie and shakes her head so fast that Allie is afraid she might break it.

"Sorry," Bea pants, fear triumphing over desire. "Can we stop?"

"Of course. Sorry," Allie mirrors, softer. She delicately brushes a wild strand of red hair out of Bea's face. "Slow. We'll take it slow."

Bea nods, paralyzed for an instant before Allie gently pushes her next to her.

Allie might agree to take this slow, but there's no way she'll survive if Bea keeps straddling her and pressing her down.

"You could say I missed you a lot," Allie laughs, attempting to make the sudden awkwardness disappear.

Bea kisses her check and she links their hands together, not ready to let the physical contact be broken altogether. She's still coming to terms with being _wanted_ by someone. It's completely new for her, and she still hasn't figured out the proper response.

"Does it bother you?" she asks shyly. "That I don't want to… That I'm not ready?"

She's playing with one of Allie's hand, not quite holding it, but never letting it go either, and Allie can only imagine how afraid she is. She brings both of their hands to her mouth and gently blows a kiss on their skin.

"Never," she swears.

Bea believes it. She never would have, _before_ , but now, she does. She believes everything Allie says. It may be foolish, but maybe it's just trust.

Unconditional trust.

Something she never thought she'd be able to feel again.

She takes a second to breathe, to anchor herself back to this reality, and Allie does the same, quite unsuccessfully.

"I used to build a blanket fort for Debbie whenever things got too hard," Bea murmurs in secrecy, gifting another part of herself to the woman she loves most. She carefully avoids mentioning the details that Allie has no trouble imagining. "They were the only real protection we ever had. Our best memories. Debbie must have thought about this when she told you to do this."

"Little shit," Allie laughs. "She could have told me."

"That's my little girl," Bea grins. "She's sneaky like that." She pauses, melancholia taking over her soul again. This castle is making her go through all the spectrum of emotions. "You never knew her like I did."

Bea looks around, at the fort and its impenetrable walls. She's lost in her memories, in a time when Debbie would laugh at ridiculous jokes and have random conversations about the strangest subjects.

"One day, you will."

Allie squeezes her hand in return, as if to say that she hopes, too. She saw a glimpse of it today, but she also witnessed something much darker. She prays that it will all end well for Bea's daughter.

They stay in silence for a while, simply appreciating each other's presence. The fortress holds most of their insecurities outside, but some of them manages to creep in. It's terrible, the way they are so close to reach a peaceful, loving state of mind, but they still aren't quite there yet.

So close that they can almost feel it.

And then, the biggest insecurity breaks through.

Bea feels it before she even becomes aware of what it is. The morning flashes in her mind, and the thoughts she had forgotten during her busy day rush back to her conscience. She instantly sinks in deeper into Allie's embrace, seeking comfort from her.

She feels the words on the tip of her tongue but it takes her many minutes before she lets them out.

"When you told me… When you said you loved me, did you mean it?" Bea's voice almost breaks.

Every doubt is coming back to her and Allie hears what is unsaid, and understands what Bea doesn't want to say.

She strokes Bea's back absently, trying to bring her some reassurance in a delicate situation.

"I did," she promises. "I never would have said it otherwise."

"But we were fighting, weren't we?" Bea insists, almost desperately.

Allie wants to dig into Bea's brain and take away all of her fears.

She'd lose herself trying to find the cure to a broken past.

"I didn't say it because we were fighting. I mean, yes, I did, in a way. But even if we hadn't been fighting, I would have screamed it on the rooftops of the world," Allie breathes out heavily. "I didn't say it because I thought this was the only way to get your attention. I said it because…"

Allie watches every single star shining in Bea's eyes and she loves them all equally.

"I said it because, maybe, I'd kept those words a secret for too long and I couldn't stop them from coming out anymore. I couldn't stop myself because the feelings, they were too strong. They are _still_ too strong, and I'm terrified of what it means, of where it will lead, but you taught me that being scared doesn't mean you should stop. So I said it. I'll say it again. I'll never stop saying it. Even if I'm scared for the rest of my life."

"What if I can never say it back?" Bea worries, heart on her sleeve ready to be broken at any second.

Allie won't let it be hurt.

"Then you don't say it. You don't need to say it, I _know_. Your feelings are your own, and you are free to put words on them or not. I'll just watch and listen, and feel. And… I love you, regardless of what you say. My feelings won't stop existing. They'll still be there."

There's a silence that lasts exactly the length of a skipped heartbeat.

"Do you mean that?"

Allie nods slowly.

"There's nothing else I want from you, Bea. You want proof?"

Bea doesn't have time to answer because Allie grabs her hand and pulls her up, making the protection they had above their head fall to the floor in a fluid and quiet movement. Allie keeps her close and makes her twirl until the room is made of blurred shapes, saved from the loving features on Allie's face. Their surroundings completely disappear when Allie pulls her in for a deep kiss that leaves Bea stunned and craving for more.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," Allie repeats continuously, sometimes so loudly that the whole city can hear them, sometimes so quietly that these words are forever prisoner of their room. "I love you, I love you. I love _you_ , Bea Smith."

 _I love you when you are an unstoppable force that will inevitably conquer the world._

 _I love you when you are so vulnerable that a single breeze could pulverize your heart to dust._

 _I love you even though I am still frightened that the charm will break and that you will realize I am not enough for you._

Allie doesn't want to make promises she can't keep, so she won't speak about forever's and eternities, but it's clear in her mind that these feelings aren't going anywhere anytime soon.

 _I love you today and tomorrow, and this statement will repeat itself tomorrow, and again, and again._

"You don't need a blanket fort to hide in anymore," she whispers, her nose brushing Bea's gently while she looks deep inside her eyes.

They make time stop with the intensity of their stares.

They create earthquakes powerful enough to reshape the Earth when they hold each other so close that space becomes an illusion.

They are alone, in the entire world, in the entire history of the universe.

They eventually start climbing on the mattress with their eyes barely open, clinging to each other like they won't be able to sleep unless they are close enough.

They fall asleep breathing each other in, feeling like they are still not close enough.

It feels like the concept of love was created only for them.

* * *

The next morning comes within minutes, too quickly for them to feel fully rested.

They roll together, limbs tangled with each other, and smiles competing to be the brightest while their eyes remain closed.

Allie leaves a trail of light kisses along the curve of Bea's cheek, and she grins wider when she swears she hears Bea _purrs_. She nuzzles closer to Bea, feeling home when she breathes in the familiar scent of Bea's skin and she nearly falls asleep again, but she knows times waits for no one.

She pushes herself up on her elbows and places a hand on Bea's lower back, where the hem of her shirt can't quite reach. Bea's skin is soft and warm, and incredible inviting. Allie wants nothing more than to explore all of it right now. She traces a few invisible lines before she impulsively places a kiss on Bea's naked skin.

Allie freezes for a moment, images and sounds running through her mind. She wonders what kinds of haunting sounds would come out of Bea's mouth if she kept kissing her, kept leaving permanent tattoos on her skin with her lips, eventually gathering the courage to go lower and lower. She wonders what kind of hypnotizing reactions she would have the privilege to remember if she just -

"Wake up," she mumbles, shoving away her wildest dreams. "You have work."

These words are so normal, so average, so domestic that Allie can barely believe that she's the one saying them. She's being part of the _average_ , with a girlfriend, and an apartment, and the ugly need to wake her up at ungodly hours to go to work. She manages to sit on the bed and hovers over Bea. She places a few more pecks on the line of her jaw and whispers:

"Bea, move your lazy sexy ass."

"Piss off," Bea groans, her face buried in the fluffiest pillow. "We came back so late."

"Not a morning person, are you?" Allie asks, lightly shaking Bea until she can see her face. "There you are."

"Stop talking."

"Only when you wake up."

"I _am_ awake."

"I'll be the judge of that," Allie replies, leaning down to steal another kiss, this time from Bea's forehead.

Bea opens her eyes just in time to see Allie looking down at her like she's looking at an angel.

"See, it wasn't that hard," Allie coos, thinking she wouldn't mind waking up like that every morning. "Good morning, beautiful."

Bea's sleepy smile might just steal the very last piece of Allie's heart that had remained untouched by Bea's magic.

"Beautiful girl," Bea answers, placing her hand behind Allie's neck and pulling her in until their lips connect in a gentle touch. "I'm the luckiest."

Allie smiles fondly thinking that Bea is insanely sweet, but she's wrong. She's the luckiest, not Bea.

"Now wake up, you'll be late."

"You're so bossy," Bea yawns and stretches slowly before she lets out a high-pitched yelp when she feels two hands pushing her out of the bed.

She hits the floor with a soft thud. It doesn't hurt, the bed isn't high at all, but it still takes her by surprise and shocks her.

"The boss needs you out of bed," Allie grins victoriously, looking down at her.

"Oh really?" Bea squints her eyes at her. She suddenly grabs Allie's shirt and pulls violently at it, dragging Allie down too.

The blonde yells like she's being murdered before she lands on top of Bea, who's laughing until there's tears in her eyes. It doesn't matter that Allie is now pinning her down on the hard floor. It doesn't matter that Allie is now on top of her and that her hand has somehow landed on her breast, and that her blue eyes are suddenly three shades darker.

Sure, it doesn't matter that Bea wants to get back up and press Allie against the wall and kiss her senseless before dragging her back to bed.

It doesn't matter.

"Come on, get up," Allie smirks, well aware of what Bea is thinking about. She stands a few inches away from Bea, like she's afraid that if she remains too close, she'll never be able to move back.

They walk in the living room, hands linked together with an invisible glue made of powerful feelings. They pretend to dance to an inaudible song, skipping and moving across the floor like two silhouettes intimately connected to one another.

They only separate so Allie can prepare breakfast while Bea sneaks on her daughter.

Allie nearly cuts her finger off when she hears Bea's voice yelling, urging her to come join her in the bedroom. She drops the knife she was using to cut some fruits and runs to the bedroom, half expecting to see a bloodbath, but she frowns when she sees something completely opposite.

The bed is neatly made, the floor is clean, the drawers are empty, and the air is suddenly so very cold.

This isn't someone's bedroom. This is a room. A room that doesn't have a personality, doesn't belong to anyone. It's just a few pieces of furniture put together in an effort to create a home for someone unknown.

Debbie is gone, and Bea is standing in the middle of the room with a small note in her hand. It's all that remains of her passage here, a small piece of paper with a few words scribbled on it.

 _Mom,_

 _I need to find a place to call home, like you did with Allie._

 _I promise I will take care of myself._

 _I love you to the moon and back._

 _Debbie_

It enrages Bea, but it doesn't hurt her as much as she thought it would. Somewhere in her heart, she'd always known that her daughter wouldn't stay.

Debbie left a note with a few sentences, a promise and the address of a well-known rehabilitation center.

It's where she's going, Bea has to trust it.

She has no choice but to trust it.

"She didn't even say goodbye," Bea whispers somberly. Just because she expected something like this to happen doesn't mean it hurts any less.

There's a weight crushing her heart. It will never be gone. It comes with the heavy duty of motherhood, and she's never running away from it again.

"I think she did," Allie murmurs, wrapping her arms around Bea's shaking figure.

Bea doesn't reply, just takes the note in her hand like it's going to cut through her skin and slit her wrists open, and let the blood stain the bedsheets.

"She helped me last night. She got everything ready. I couldn't have done it without her. She ordered the sheets, organized everything. She must have known."

Bea just sits on Debbie's bed.

She doesn't say anything. The lump in her throat grows larger by the minute and it threatens to suffocate her. Maybe there's no air around her anymore. Maybe she's in outerspace, floating without a suit and unconsciously watching her life being broken to pieces and being built back together in the same second.

"She'll be back, alright? She told you. She's getting help."

Bea nods, still clenching her fists in frustration.

"I could have helped her a bit longer."

Allie tightens her hold around Bea. She leans closer and presses her lips on Bea's cheek.

"You may be the strongest woman in the world, but she needs professional help, and you know it. You don't know… the way she was yesterday. It was her, and it wasn't her at the same time. She made the right choice. She did something good. You'll get her back."

Bea nods to the room, to the ghost of her daughter. Debbie wasn't quite herself, hadn't been for a while. And it hurts that she couldn't do anything. She couldn't quite find the right things to say, couldn't direct her daughter in the right direction, couldn't help her as much as she wishes she had.

But someone else can.

A professional. Someone who isn't Debbie's mother, who will never know Debbie as intimately as she does, but who will still be able to help her. She hates that, and she could not be more grateful at the same time.

"How many times do I have to lose her?" Bea sighs, leaning back into Allie's arms. "How many times do I have to wait for her to come back, and hope that she won't screw this up. She's an adult. I can't keep her in and stop her from leaving, but… what if she forgets the way back to us?"

She closes her eyes, trying to chase that image of that innocent little girl she once knew.

"Maybe this is the last time she leaves," Allie dreams out loud. "You have to believe that this is the last time."

Bea doesn't look so convinced. She lets herself be gently rocked by Allie.

"Give her a chance. I know it's hard to believe, but we had a good day yesterday. She'll come back, just for me," Allie grins.

"We need to work on your ego," Bea declares sarcastically as some of her sadness drifts away.

"Alright fine, she might come back to see you first, but we're on the road to become best friends. Someday. And think about it for a second! If she's anything like you, she'll come back here with a girlfriend, a new apartment and a new job. Don't you want that for her?"

Bea snorts and rolls her eyes. She turns to face Allie, a playful look in her face.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?"

Allie just shrugs and grins.

"I just do," she answers with a smug look on her face. "And that's why I'm perfect for you."


	17. The meaning of the word happiness

By some kind of miracle, I was able to get this chapter out before Wentworth Con next week. 17 766 words!

Chapter's title comes from the positive "Have it all" by Jason Mraz.

Enjoy, and thank you for your patience.

* * *

 **Chapter 17 : May you know the meaning of the word Happiness**

"What is happiness?" The therapist asks the ten young adults listening to her attentively.

Debbie looks around, muffling a yawn. She would have given away the entirety of her savings account simply to stay in bed a bit longer this morning.

No one answers the question, but it's not surprising, judging that today is only their third session. She really doesn't want to answer either. This isn't supposed to be a philosophy class. This is supposed to be some curative therapy that will save her from all that is dysfunctional and rotten in her mind. This is supposed to build her back together, to cure her from her addiction for drugs, and to banish all her toxic thoughts away from her mind.

That's not how they presented it to her, of course.

They told her that it would help. They told her that it was a group program for young adults who were addicted to drugs, hard drugs, not soft ones, because those would have required a different approach. Debbie thinks it's dumb because addiction is addiction, no matter where it comes from.

She'd gone to the first session, and she hadn't hated it, and everything the therapist had said had made sense.

She'd gone to the second one, and she hadn't been bored out of her mind, so now she's sitting here for the third time, tired, but not disinterested.

"Is it the drugs that you take? The drinks that you can't live without? The medicine that you take despite not needing it?"

Maybe, Debbie thinks. Maybe it is.

"Or is it the family you left behind to check yourselves in? The friends that look at you with anger and worry in their eyes at the same time? The love of your life waiting for you to get better?"

Debbie sighs loudly. Fine. Maybe it's not the drugs.

"Or is it the emptiness? The exhaustion even though you've slept all day and night? Bursts of anger or sadness, or impatience that have no cause? The feeling that you're not quite here, the same way everyone else seems to be? The feeling that something's not quite right, but you can't explain it nor fix it?"

Addiction and depression.

That's what they told her she had, and that's why she is part of this specific group.

She had denied it at first. Not the addiction. She'd known she was addicted and she had accepted it. But depression? No way. Depression was a whole other level. It was too hard for her. It was too heavy for her. She was just not okay for a little while. She was just dealing with life the best way she could. She was just _trying_ so damn hard, so why would they tell her that she had depression?

She couldn't bear the idea that she would be labelled with such a strong word from now on.

Depression meant being judged. Depression meant being looked at like she was a fragile little thing that could break at any moment. Depression meant being called _lazy_ , and _liar_. It was being told to _just get over it_ and to _just smile._ It was riddled with assumptions and prejudices, and it was not who she was. She was so much more than this.

She couldn't be _depressed._

She didn't want to take meds. She didn't want to have her entire personality changed, even though she knew too well that this was yet another incorrect belief to have. And they told her that this wasn't what medicine did, but she still had her doubts. They hadn't forced her, and she had only been noticed that she would be placed in a specific group that didn't focus solely on addiction issues.

She was still waiting, terrified that, one day, they'd barge into her room and ask that she takes medicine, but it hadn't happened so far. And whatever this dark cloud above her head was – anything but depression, of course – she was expecting it to disappear soon. But it hadn't, yet.

The therapist is looking straight at her when she comes out from the inside of her mind.

"Do you know what happiness is?" she asks.

Debbie shakes her head negatively.

She wishes she knew, and for a long time, she had thought that she knew.

But today, she has no clue what happiness really is.

When the session ends, with words that are either too wise to be understood or too stupid for Debbie to bother remembering, the young woman can't quite decide whether she wasted her time or moved forward with her intervention plan.

She walks through the halls of the building, heading back to her room for the small break she has before another mandatory activity. She shyly greets the few people she meets before she finally reaches the familiar lime green walls that characterize the aisle that she resides in.

She closes the door to her room and manages to stare at the ceiling for a whole twenty seconds before her mind spirals down again.

* * *

A light chuckle.

"Good morning beautiful."

"I don't want to."

"Get up."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll tickle you until you get up."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"Don't you dare."

"Bea?"

"Yeah?"

A laugh so loud that it sends ripple through the world.

* * *

The door opens and Bea instinctively looks up, her smile widening when she sees Allie walking inside the salon with mischief in her eyes and the sun following closely behind her. Bea blinks once and then twice, before she accepts that she isn't hallucinating the presence of her favorite woman.

"What are you doing here?" She asks without pausing her movements. She's been here for a few days now, long enough to reacquaint with her hairdresser skills and to master the art of multitasking on the busiest days.

Allie winks and takes a seat in the small waiting area. She grabs a newspaper from the giant pile next to her and starts reading the headlines, without giving so much of a second glance to her girlfriend. She tries not to laugh when she feels Bea's eyes drilling holes in her skull.

Bea narrows her eyes suspiciously, but she can't afford to let the blonde steals too much of her attention. She has clients lined up to see her today, and she knows some of them specifically requested for her. It's the first time since she's started working here, and she won't let Allie ruin her perfect organization for the day, no matter how damn distracting her presence is.

She finishes with her client and quickly cleans the place for her next one. She's barely done with sweeping the floor and getting rid of all the dirty accessories when Allie takes a seat on the chair and grins at her knowingly.

"You're my next client?" Bea asks with a confused voice.

"Well, don't sound so excited to see me," Allie rolls her eyes. "I won't take too much of your time, I just want to freshen up the haircut. It's been a while since we kissed in an empty salon, too long, to be exact. And obviously, we can't do it anymore, so I did the next best thing."

"I was supposed to have another appointment," Bea resists despite the small grin that appears on her lips. Her mind is busy calculating how many minutes she can spare to focus on Allie, but she knows she's juggling with people until the end of the day. "You could have asked me at home."

 _Home._ Even now, she still swoons when she thinks of this word.

She walks to the front counter and turns the pages of the small agenda until she finds the information she's looking for. It's written in bright blue and circled in a darker shade of the same color, as if her co-worker had planned this for a long time, and the name flashes before her eyes like it's made of neon lights.

"DJ Allie Cat? That's the name you used for the reservation, and they let you?"

"Should I be offended that you didn't even notice?" Allie gasps mockingly, dramatically getting up from the chair and pressing her hands to her chest. "Who else do you know with that name?! Don't you lie to me, Bea Smith!"

"How are you going to pay?" Bea laughs freely at Allie's antics.

"Family don't pay, Smith!" Doreen replies teasingly from the other side of the salon. "And I answered her call, so don't worry about formalities. We're not that kind of place or we would lose all our clients. Now get back to work. We wouldn't want all that success to get to your head."

Allie laughs harder when she sees Bea nods politely at her boss.

"Why today?" Bea asks curiously, not really knowing what to say.

She's suddenly feeling self-conscious, like she might slip on the floor on invisible water and embarrass herself in front of her crush. Her girlfriend. Who's still a crush. Who she loves very much. Too much, to be exact.

She feels Doreen's eyes on her and she turns pink. She'll be teased for the rest of her days here, she has no doubt about it.

"What if one day you don't have time for me anymore?" Allie falsely pouts while Bea leads her to get her hair washed.

"I'll create time out of thin air," Bea nods confidently.

"And if you're some hot shot hairdresser that's requested in every country of the world? You have the potential, we all know that. You'll get free plane tickets to fly to other continents and you'll get to meet famous celebrities, and you'll probably be asked out a million times," Allie imagines with a seriousness that doesn't sit well in the pit of her stomach.

"I'll stay here with you," Bea states, making a small promise at the same time. "I'll use those plane tickets to visit the world by your side, I'll tell people you're the only celebrity I want to know, and I'll repeat a million times that I don't need anyone but you."

Allie hums skeptically, but the smile in her eyes betrays how joyful she truly is.

"Then, you better get used to me showing up here out of nowhere," Allie replies casually. "Because that'll happen. A lot."

She closes her eyes when she feels the water hits her head. She thinks she hears the subtlest chuckle above her, and she hopes she never get used to this fluttering feeling within her chest.

"I can't wait for it to happen again."

Allie's heart twists a few more times when Bea leans quickly to steal a chaste kiss from her lips.

* * *

A smile.

"Allie?"

"Yeah?"

"What would you say if I accidently cut off all your hair?"

"You wouldn't…"

"What was it this morning… try me?"

"Bea, if you do that, you are sleeping on the couch for the rest of your life."

"But it'll be worth it."

"I can't believe I'm in love with you."

The widest smile in the world.

* * *

They separate at the end of the day.

Bea jolts away in the empty street opposite of the one followed by Allie. She finds herself standing in front of the familiar rehabilitation center, the same one her daughter admitted herself to, almost two weeks ago. It feels like a lifetime ago, and Bea feels angry at the thought that she can't do anything but visit every three days.

She walks past the reception after signing her name. The door beeps and she's allowed in, and she can't help but think that this is strangely familiar to a detention center, where every entry is monitored and every departure has to be signed twice by staff members. She makes her way to the visitor's room and waits for the familiar view of her daughter's silhouette.

She's come here twice already. The first time had been terrifying. She'd worried that she'd find her daughter strapped to bed, fed with electroshocks and bathed in bleach. Instead, she'd found her motivated and eager to get on with her treatment, impatient to get better. The second time, she'd found her daughter tired and a little disenchanted, having realized that healing doesn't take a few days, but rather a few months, even a few years.

The third time, she sees the reality, the raw reality as it truly is.

Her daughter is wearing battle scars all over her face as she goes through the hardship of fighting her addiction. She looks exhausted and angry with herself, and her eyes are the battlefield for one of the bloodiest war Bea has ever witnessed.

Still, a grin blooms on her face and Bea thinks that Debbie has never looked more like her old self than right this moment.

"My beautiful little girl," Bea declares as she gets up and pulls her daughter in a tight hug. "How are you?"

"I'm not a child anymore," Debbie jokes lightly, returning the embrace. "I'm all grown up. Doing grown up things, like poisoning myself."

"And making the wise decision of healing yourself," Bea points out as they sit together on a comfortable couch. "You're making progress at this."

"So are you," Debbie shrugs. "I'm just trying, and maybe one day, if I try hard enough, we can go back to just being us."

Bea smiles sadly, melancholy covering her eyes with a thin veil.

"What does it mean?" she asks curiously. "If you try hard enough."

She likes those visits. Even if she can see that it drains her daughter's energy by the second, she likes them. They don't interact while being on the edge of their seats anymore. There's no adrenaline replacing the oxygen in their blood, and there's no impulsive need to hide themselves from spying ears under a blanket castle.

They both know that they are completely safe here.

They talk just like they did _before_ , when they weren't constantly slapped by circumstances greater than them, and when enemies weren't hiding in every stranger's eyes. They laugh and, despite the sound being small and quiet, it feels real this time, not forced or strained or empty. They look at each other without fear and paralyzing doubt, and every syllable they share takes another brick off the wall that's built between them.

"It means you won't have to come here to see me, and I won't have to be in here in the first place," Debbie says simply. "I'll get my own place, and you'll come visit me every week because you're the neediest mother on Earth, and then you'll criticize my food choices and my sleep schedule. Like we should have done from the beginning."

"Is that really how it'll be?" Bea chuckles, the volatile scenario popping in and out of her mind. "You know we're two in this situation. It's not just you, don't pressure yourself. I still have a way to go."

"With Allie too," Debbie adds, grabbing a bag of chips from the small table next to them. She tears it open and starts chewing on the snacks. "Because I bet you're the neediest girlfriend on Earth too."

In their last couples of conversations, Debbie had always made an effort to mention Allie a few times, and it fills Bea with a type of bliss she didn't even know existed. It seems as if all the little pieces of her life are finally fitting together rather than drifting away from each other.

"You won't mind if Allie comes to annoy you every week?" Bea raises an eyebrow, not really serious. "I don't believe you."

"I think you're so in love, you'll grant Allie whatever she wants, including all rights to annoy me." Debbie points out in a light tone that shows she really doesn't care whether it happens or not.

She doesn't mind if Allie shows up now and then. She hasn't seen the blonde since that last day they spent together, and she hates to admit it, but she's starting to miss her. She won't tell her mother about it. She's sure Allie has other things to do than to visit her in a rehab center.

"That is not true!" Bea claims defensively.

"Oh yeah?" Debbie leans against the couch until she's almost lying now. She grins wickedly at her mother. "So you're not in love with her?"

Bea is so in love with Allie that she could take a plane and write it in the sky so the entire planet could see it and applaud them.

"I didn't say that," Bea replies calmly, reminding herself that she won't die from an overdose of romantic feelings.

"And you won't grant Allie whatever she wants?"

She would give Allie everything and more, and even more, and when she'd be done, she'd create new concepts to offer them to the blonde as well.

"I didn't – I just – " Bea frowns and points an accusatory finger at her daughter. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Your lying skills suck. And I'm in rehab. I've met people who cannot lie to save their own life."

Bea pokes her daughter's ribs playfully and she receives a tongue sticking in her direction in exchange. In another life, she might have rolled her eyes at Debbie for displaying such a childish behavior, but this isn't _another life_. This is a life during which she has denied Debbie's rights to have a childhood. She'll let Debbie act like this for as long a she wants. It reminds her of everything she missed as a mother.

"How was your day?"

"We talked about happiness in today's session," Debbie frowns at the memory. "As if talking about it was enough for us to find the way to reach it. It's a start, but I don't think it helped much."

It's such an abstract concept that, for a moment, Bea doesn't really know what to reply either.

"It's a start," she sighs after a while. "They must know what they're doing or this place wouldn't be so highly recommended. Or they've been lying to us from the beginning, but I refuse to accept it."

If it only depended on her, she would take her daughter away from this place, from this strange building that reminds her too much of prison to do any good. She might have read about the theory behind the clinical program and the contents of the different sessions, she still doesn't see how these people can claim that they have the most efficient way to cure addiction.

And depression. The diagnosis had sliced like a guillotine on her daughter's head, and Bea is still trying to come to terms with it, still trying not to blame herself from it, and still trying not to down in an ocean of misconceptions.

She doesn't have any guarantee that the program works. She can only focus on what Debbie tells her, but it's not enough. Even if she sees the changes, the small differences in Debbie's non-verbal cues, she can't see what is happening within her brain.

"I didn't learn anything," Debbie says. "I only discovered that no one, not even the therapist, knows what happiness is."

"That's because it's different for everyone," Bea explains to the best of her knowledge. "They must have wanted you to think about what it could be, for you. What happiness is for you isn't necessarily going to be what it is for someone else."

"What is it for you? I know it wasn't what you had with dad."

Bea frowns.

A second ago, she was sure she knew the answer, but now that she's being asked, she has no idea. The easy reply would be to say that whenever Allie is around her, she feels happiness. But then, what about those times when she simply thinks of Allie, and she still gets that erratic beating within her chest? This must be happiness too. And what about those times she spends without Allie, but still feels like she can tackle the world's greatest obstacles? She's only just rediscovered the feeling, but it sure seems similar to happiness as well.

So what can it be? Is it her? Is it the atoms that compose her? Can they vibrate a specific way that transforms her from an ordinary human being to an explosive entity made of happiness?

"I don't know," she concedes. "I never really thought of it. I didn't have much time to think about it."

Debbie sighs like she's made of dust and she's slowly mixing with the ambient air. Like she has no beginning, no end, no consistence at all. Like she's made of the _unknown._

"We were told that we focused so much on the bad that we never notice the good. And that if we took just a bit more time to notice the good, we would find the answer to the question. But it sounds like it's too easy. Or just stupid."

Too easy and too hard at the same time.

"Do you think you're doing better?" Bea asks, trying not to show how hopeful she is.

Debbie looks at her with eyes that are centuries old.

Something snaps inside of her.

"I think I've realized how low I was, but I don't think I'm doing better yet," she confesses slowly, like her words are knives and she's throwing them blindly, simply wishing she doesn't accidently pierce her mother's heart.

The realization was inevitable from the very start.

It just took a long time for the stars to align, for gravity to stop forcing her down so she could finally start climbing the tall mountain facing her. Now, she's standing at the top of the world. The coordinates fit perfectly with those of the highest peek of the universe.

If she looks behinds her, she can still hear the deathly songs of domestic violence and drug addiction trying to lure her back. But if she looks ahead, she sees monstrous cliffs that leads her right back to the bottom of the mountain if she misplaces the tiniest step.

Standing so high, she can't tell where the cacophonic symphony ends and where the skydiving road begins. She can't tell her consciousness apart from the raging concert whistling in her ears. She just knows that if she stays still for too long, she'll get carried away by the strongest winds, so she might as well take a step forward and gamble her life once more, and hope that this time, she gets it right.

"I needed to come here to realize how bad I was," she admits with a small voice. "I needed to…"

She pauses, he mother's eyes fixated on her.

"I needed to do my worst to realize that I could do better. And I still feel like that sometimes, like I need to explore the bottom before I can go up. I still feel like I'm not done being sad and feeling empty."

Even now, saying those words, she doesn't know how she's supposed to feel. She doesn't know if this is relief being born inside of her, or if it is denial or resistance. She doesn't know if this is really emptiness, or if she's gotten so good at blocking her feelings that she simply can't access them anymore.

Bea takes Debbie's head gently between the palm of her hands.

"I'm here now. I'll never let you go, remember? I'll say it as many times I need to for you to believe me. And I won't let you explore all those places without me. You don't want to end up where I was," she chokes on the words, but they free themselves regardless. "you saw everything, you know how bad it gets. Now, I may not know what it feels like in your head, but I know you don't want to stay there."

Debbie nods, leaning against her mother's touch.

"When you sent me away, I thought you had moved on. And when you met Allie, I was sure you had moved on and that you wouldn't want me anymore."

Bea frowns, destroyed about the thought that her daughter ever felt this way.

"Why would you think that?"

"I thought I just reminded you of what dad did and that you wouldn't want me anymore," Debbie confides.

Bea shakes her head quickly.

"Oh, my beautiful girl. You don't remind me of what he did. You remind me that he couldn't beat us, that we are invincible. And if I ever need a reason to keep fighting, I just think of you."

Bea wants to take those thoughts and annihilate them with her bare hands. She doesn't want her daughter to feel this way.

Her daughter is the only source of beauty in all this hideous mess.

"What changed for you?" Debbie asks, changing the subject and wondering if it is too late to ask for her mother's wisdom. "What made you… you?"

"I got lucky," Bea softly whispers. Images of her first encounter with Allie twirl inside her head, like fallen leaves stuck in the gentlest breeze forever. Memories of her stay at Wentworth dance in her soul, over and over again. "I don't know what else I would have done otherwise. I just got really lucky that I found good people."

She doesn't want to think about another situation. Other situations don't exist for her. They can't. They never will.

"I got Brayden," Debbie groans. "And I still have dad."

"Still?" Bea asks, her blood freezing momentarily.

"He's texting me, still. I tried blocking him, but he's contacting me from different numbers. I have to constantly avoid him now. And I can't tell him to piss off because that means I have to answer him."

Bea thinks back of her own phone, the same persistent buzzing, the same never-ending vocal messages that threaten her constantly. She thinks of the constant fear she lives with, the one she's almost used to now.

"Mom, I need you to do something," Debbie confronts her with a voice that shakes despite being carved in diamond. "I won't ask anything ever again but… I can't even focus here. And he – he technically isn't obliged to leave me alone."

It's the moment after the first step, when the ground is coming at her at lightspeed and the air is whistling painfully in her ears, and the surface of her skin is scalding hot and the world is made of fire. It's the milliseconds during which she doesn't know where's up, where's down, and whether she is going the right way or not. It's the moment during which she is immortal, and unbreakable, and terrible fragile and made of the most delicate glass.

It's the moment where everything stops, where every particle of the universe stands still and waits for the explosion to occur.

Then, she realizes she hasn't slipped off a cliff, and time moves on.

"You need to go to the police," Debbie whispers carefully, weighting every word and every tone.

And Bea nods, because there's nowhere else to hide and nothing else to do.

"I'll do it," Bea promises. "I'm ready now."

"Really?" Debbie watches her like she doesn't know where the limits of their newfound trust is.

"I will," Bea swears, "I'll protect you. And everyone else."

Confidence is a drug too, she thinks.

"And yourself," Debbie adds. "You'll protect yourself."

Bea nods.

She's ready for the end of the war now. She's ready for the prison to welcome a new criminal.

She's ready to bury him once and for all.

* * *

A soft ringtone.

"Hey Allie."

"Bea? Why are you calling, is everything okay with Debbie?"

"Yeah, everything's great. I just…"

"What's wrong?"

"I just missed your voice."

The sweetest melody she's ever heard.

* * *

There's a thin line of blood on her finger that comes from a small paper cut and Allie stares at it for a long minute before she finally wipes it away. It stings and it shocks her arm like it's wrapped in barbed wire before it vanishes. It stops bleeding immediately and Allie is left with a small pink wound.

Her eyes are glued to the lone cloud in the sky while she leans on the wall of the building facing another place that wouldn't hire her. She closes her eyes. She pretends that she is that cloud, floating away without anyone noticing or caring much about it. She wishes she could speak to the air at least, that way she'd direct it to lead her wherever it is that she will find a job.

She clutches her resume in one hand and her cover letter in the other. The paper crinkles loudly and almost cuts through her skin again. She wouldn't mind if it did. It's not going to be much useful anymore. She's given it to a least a hundred places in the last weeks. She's more than certain that employers are sick of her face and are warning each other about the crazy blonde woman going from one place to another, begging for a job.

She doesn't understand why people need her to have three years of past experience just to serve some coffee to strangers. There must be something wrong with this world, she thinks.

She's tired of coming back to the apartment at night and telling Bea that she has had yet another unsuccessful day of job hunting. She knows she shouldn't feel this way, but she still worries that if she doesn't start doing something, anything, Bea will kick her out like she would a rodent.

She turns her resume into a paper plane and watches it fly until it crashes into a small puddle. She stares at it emotionlessly. It sinks to the bottom of the puddle and turns into an unrecognizable mush. Maybe that's what it's worth to the eyes of the privileged. Mush.

Fuck it. She's done.

She's done with rejection. She's done with the judgemental looks she receives whenever people glance at her qualifications and find nothing relevant. She's done with spending an enormous amount of energy on trying to find a job that she knows she won't like anyway. She should be chasing her passion, not trying to find a temporary distraction that will make her want to quit after a day.

Just because she doesn't have years of experience doesn't mean she's good for nothing. She knows how to survive without money, without a roof above her head and without friends to rely on. She knows how to light a fire that will be small enough that it won't attract anyone's attention. She knows how to tell which drugs are safe and which aren't just by looking at them. She knows which streets to avoid at night, and which to hide from during the days. She knows the best places to escape the coldest evenings and the small wonderlands that'll pity her enough to gift her a coffee on a good day.

If the apocalypse happened today, all these self-centered arrogant idiots in suits and ties would be the first to fall, and she would thrive and survive, and even teach a group of fearsome kids everything that she knows. She would be the last woman standing.

A firework explodes in her brain at her last thought.

She would be the last woman standing.

She would be the sole survivor because she knows _everything_ there is to know about surviving in the streets, and it's the only thing that she can't put in her resume. It's useless. Knowing how to survive in the streets is useless, unless she shares that knowledge with those who need it.

Like Debbie. Like that teenage girl she keeps talking to. Like all those kids who are living in the streets and deserve better.

She's had this strange feeling ever since Debbie told her that she was one of the good people and now she finally knows what it is. It's the satisfaction of knowing where she belongs and what she's meant to do.

She cracks her knuckles and heads to the direction of the youth shelter. It's only a few minutes away, but she's sweating nervously by the time she gets there. She stares at the door for a minute, but she finds herself unable to walk in.

It's like her feet are rooted in the ground so deeply that she cannot even take a step forward. Even her ambition cannot help her dig her way out. She feels like a damn tree and she hates it, and an irrational part of her starts to wonder why the fuck people like nature so much.

She lets out a frustrated scream that attracts a few curious glances, and she runs away before they start wondering if she's gone mad.

Dammit.

She has it. She has her plan, her passion, all figured out.

But she can't just waltz in here, asking for job when she has no credentials whatsoever.

She rushes to the library and paces in-between the different sections while she waits for a computer to be available. Her eyes shine when she arrives in the _sociology_ area. All those books are suddenly chanting her name, and all the subjects are suddenly more interesting than they were a few months ago.

Her name is called when a computer becomes available, and her fingers move with anticipation as she opens the familiar search browser.

When she's done, she doesn't feel like a cloud or a tree anymore. She's not just a passenger waiting to arrive at her destination.

She's creating her destination.

She _is_ the destination.

She's Allie Novak and she's ready to have her revenge on the streets. She high fives herself and she has no regrets doing so.

She nearly runs to her informal appointment and the only reason she doesn't hit every obstacle she passes by is because she has a stellar survival instinct.

"How much do you hate social workers?" Allie declares loudly, sitting next to the teenager in a fluid movement.

They've been meeting for a while now, and she knows she doesn't need to act so polite anymore. If the girl didn't want her there, she would have told her a long time ago. A bit longer, and maybe she'll convince her to go somewhere else in the future.

She wonders how long they can keep doing this, keep meeting under the sun and pretend like they both have time to spare for one another and no other urgent matter to get to.

When she'd come here the day after she'd brought Debbie with her, the teenager had looked at her with wary eyes, like trust wasn't part of the equation anymore. The girl had spent the entire conversation looking behind Allie, expecting someone else to show up and share their secrets again.

But by the end of the conversation, Allie could have sworn that she had seen a glimpse of disappointment in the girl's eyes, as if she had hoped for Debbie to show up this time. Allie could only guess that the other girl didn't have any friends around her age. She'd probably thought that Debbie had judged her harshly and never wanted to see her again.

Friendship doesn't come easily here, Allie had thought morosely.

It's almost impossible to find, and it's dangerous to even hope for it. After that misstep, it had taken her a few hours with the girl to be trusted again, to be trusted not to bring false hope around here again.

And today, she receives her usual detached shrug in exchange for her question.

"Because that's it. I've found what I want to do. I'll be a street worker. Social worker. Not street worker. It sounds like I'm going back to my old ways," Allie frowns. "Whatever you call them. I'll be that person who reach out to others in the streets. You know, just walking around and talking to people, and not helping them, just like I haven't helped you," Allie shares with enthusiasm.

She beams under the suspicious stare she gets from the teenager, and sends her best wink in her direction.

"You'll become the person you hated when you were in the streets?" the girl asks curiously.

"Life is unpredictable, isn't it?" Allie chimes. "Maybe in a couple of years, you'll be one too. Maybe we'll even work together and you can pretend like I still can't help you."

"I guess this is where our friendship ends," the girl jokes. "Can't get along with someone who wants to _help_ me and make me leave my comfortable spot here."

Allie gasps loudly and turns her body to fully face the girl with a gleeful expression in her eyes.

"We're friends?"

The girl looks down, like she regrets saying those words. Maybe she's reading too much into it and she's imagining a connection that isn't really here, but just as she's about to say _forget it_ , Allie refuses to let her disappear again.

"This is good!" Allie claims loudly, savoring the breakthrough. "This is great. Friendship isn't bad, and you shouldn't walk away from it. I'm glad I'm your friend. Hell, I'm proud to be your friend."

The girl nods slowly, accepting the situation and the fact that Allie isn't calling her insane. Like her parents did when she came out, or like her friends back then, who weren't her real friends in the end. But how long has it been now, since they met each other? A few weeks. A few months? Time has no meaning in the streets.

"Proud?" she repeats the word with a brittle voice.

No one could be _proud_ to be her friend. She's dirty and she's always begging for a few lost coins whenever a stranger meets her eyes. She hasn't finished school and she won't ever be one of those successful people that get to eat in fancy restaurants and plan adventures to other countries. She'll just be too busy wandering in the hidden paths, trying to get the precious clues to win the quest of life.

"Yes. Proud," Allie confirms. "Are you kidding me? You're a survivor, of course I'm proud to know you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

She looks at the teenager like they're two peas in a pod and the girl huffs and chuckles and bursts in laughs a few seconds later.

"You'd make a good social worker," the girl breathes out softly, offering a bit of encouragement to an ecstatic blonde. "You have the heart for it."

Allie smiles like a small child on the morning of Christmas.

"You think so? I have the heart to help those who don't want my help?" she wiggles her eyebrows knowingly. "Even the most stubborn ones like you?"

The teenager nods, but she doesn't add anything else.

"Ah, you've reached your quota of compliments today, haven't you?" Allie nudges her with her foot. "That's fine. I've gotten more than I expected."

The girl hits her shoulder and Allie struggles to keep a serious face. This is easy, and fun, and nothing like their first meeting.

"So, friend," Allie grins, "I actually came here because I need something from you. A favor. It's a bit strange, but I gathered information on what it takes to be a social worker earlier today. I need to start somewhere and I thought I'd go apply for an easy at that youth shelter near here. I don't know if you've heard about it?"

The girl moves away just enough for Allie to notice it. She's heard about it only because Allie keeps mentioning it every time they meet now, like it's somehow going to be enough for her to go.

"You won't need to come with me if you don't want to," Allie adds quickly. "But you should know that I mentioned you to them before. I thought – I just wanted you to meet someone. And because you're still here, I'm guessing they never sent anyone."

The teenager takes her empty hat in her hands and fiddles with it a little. She doesn't say anything, but Allie knows that this conversation must be uncomfortable for her. She wishes she had something else to say instead, maybe some useless piece of information about the weather, but this is what they are meant to do: speak about the subjects they like least so they can eventually move on to better days.

"I might mention you again because, in this field, I'm nobody," Allie explains slowly. "I have no experience, I didn't finish school, I don't even know the theory behind social work. I just try to get inspired by my own life. I don't even know if I'll be admitted to school again. So I'll need references to tell people that I can do it. I'll need someone who's talked to me, and you know me well enough for that... I think"

She's never had references before. She has no idea what questions someone asks a reference, and what influence it might have on the employer's final choice. She's never had a proper job. She's just guessing as she goes and hoping that she doesn't fall into a bottomless well.

It almost feels like she's back to a point in her life during which she doesn't know anything at all. It strangely reminds her of when she was first thrown out of her house.

Except this time, she's not crying, and she's not lost, and she's not afraid about tomorrow.

The teenager drops her hat to the ground again. By the time she speaks again, two people have stopped to drop a few coins in it. It's not much, but it might be enough to pay for a quick snack tonight.

"I can't."

Allie's smile falters, but doesn't disappear.

"What? Yes, you can," she insists. Her whole plan depends on this young stranger to agree. "I'm not even sure they'll consider coming here and getting your opinion, but if they do, you just have to tell them how I annoy you, but in a good way."

The girl shakes her head and Allie is left with a heavy feeling in the bottom of her stomach. She glances at the hat, at the shoes with holes in them, at the torn-out jeans and the stained shirt. She looks at the few coins, a small treasure on a deserted island, and at the empty granola bar package, a feast for someone who hasn't had food in a while. She wonders how she can convince the girl to help her.

Because she needs help for this. She needs all the help she can get and she's not afraid to admit it, and she wishes everyone else could see that this isn't a bad thing.

She understands what's wrong at the same time that the girl offers her an explanation, and she wants to hit her head against the wall for not catching up earlier.

"I want you to help people," the girl explains gently.

 _I don't want to destroy your dreams._

"You just need to be yourself," Allie says quickly.

"People don't like me when I'm myself," the girl smiles with the saddest eyes.

 _I will ruin everything for you._

Allie sees the cracks appearing in her well-crafted plan and she rushes in with cement to solidify it. She fills the cracks carefully, not too fast, but not too slow either. The pace needs to be perfect for her masterpiece to keep standing. If she hurries up, she'll make everything worse, but if she waits too long, it'll be too late for her to remember what the plan even looks like.

"I don't want you to lie for me. I don't want you to pretend to be someone else or to sell a reality that isn't true. I want you to say the truth. How you see me, and whether I helped you or not. Just tell them what you can. Nothing more. Nothing more matters than your honest opinion."

The girl stares at her like she will never believe her, and Allie's heart breaks when she realizes that, maybe, all that progress she'd thought had occurred, is just the product of her imagination.

Maybe, deep inside, the girl still feels like she did on the very first day they met.

"Here, I'll repeat it," Allie whispers genuinely. "Your opinion matters. I care about it. I bet so many others would, if you let them hear it. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry that you were forced to believe otherwise."

She wishes her words alone could encourage the girl to believe in herself, but that's not her journey to make.

"What if I ruin everything?" the girl asks.

"It's a risk I'm taking," Allie replies. "But I'm not worried. I doubt you will ruin anything. I'm awesome. Your words can't change my awesomeness, that's the rule."

The girl snorts loudly and acts like she didn't hear the last part.

"I just think that, while you're here, you might want to, maybe, help me?" Allie grins, her heart reaching out to the girl's. "I need your help."

It takes a few more moments of silence and a few more exchanged glances, but the girl eventually looks like she's accepting to take on the role of Allie's helper.

"With that said," Allie points the hat, "your hat's breaking a bit more every day. Have you considered seeking help, any type of help?"

She throws the question out without really thinking about it, and without really expecting the girl to answer. After all this time, she's gotten used to the girl dismissing any mention of help. It doesn't matter that she throws pamphlets at her with all the useful information on them, they're always gone the following day. And it doesn't matter that she explains in details how to reach a specific shelter that could help her, she never gets any confirmation that the girl remembers the address the next day.

She only starts again every day, thinking that if she tries hard enough, she'll leave a trace.

But today, she gets an answer, and it's not one she wants to hear.

It's not one she ever wants to hear.

Her heart gets stabbed by the different syllables, and it breaks into pieces that are left with no choice but to follow her bloodstream and exist without the certainty that they'll ever reunite again.

"If I leave here, I'll truly be alone," the teenager chokes on her words, gifting another piece of her vulnerability to Allie. "You won't be with me anymore."

If the girl were made of music, her heart would be a lone drum pulsating to the sound of her crippling loneliness, her nerves would be guitar strings vibrating under the tensed fear of the future, her skin would wear tattoos of chords, all written in an ordered disordered way, and her voice would be a broken melody.

Allie remembers too well what it feels like.

It's the way she felt when she turned to Marie for the umpteenth time despite being heartbroken again. It's the way she felt when she went back to her dealer despite promising herself that she would stop using. It's the way she felt when she went back to the streets after failing to stay at a shelter.

The streets were always her safety net, the place she knew best.

"If you leave," Allie replies immediately, thinking of the words she wishes someone would have told her when she was the girl's age. "I'll find you again. That's what real friends do."

She pauses a minute and dips her toes in the metaphorical cold water still separating them.

"But since you're not leaving anytime soon, do you want to meet someone important to me?"

The teenager squints her eyes at her, like she's asking if this _someone important_ will also look at her with possible disgust in her eyes, only to never show up again. If this _someone important_ looks like a girl her age who could be her friend but won't, because they'll probably never meet again.

"Do you want to meet her, the person who changed my life and made me better?" Allie asks gently, her tone conveying that this is only a suggestion and that she's just throwing the idea out there. "I can come with her tomorrow? Then you'll see that, when you leave, great things can happen."

The girl doesn't reply. It looks like she might not want to speak again today, and Allie lets her. There's only so many secrets they can share in one day, and every time Allie thinks they've reached the limit, the teenager surprises her with more.

"Maybe?" Allie asks.

There's no answer, but Allie reads the silence like she would an open book.

"Maybe it is," she pats the girl's shoulders gently. "I'll see if she's available tomorrow, yeah?"

The girl stays immobile until she slowly, hesitantly, nods.

* * *

A question.

"Are you home yet?"

"Almost. I'm just a couple of streets away."

"Hurry up."

"Is the apartment on fire?"

"No."

"Is food ready?"

"You know I always wait for you."

"Are you naked?"

"Allie!"

"Just asking! But… are you?"

"Forget it, I'm not waiting for you tonight."

An exclamation.

* * *

The day is long gone when Bea and Allie fall asleep in each other's arms, exhausted and full of renewed ambitions for their future days.

Allie tells Bea all about her career and everything she wants to do. She tells her about the world she wants to save and the laws she wants to change, and the traditions that are too old for this modern reality. She tells her about the ways she avoided death a million times against all odds, and how she wants to teach everyone that they can make it. She tells her about the drifting cloud and the way it seemed to exist in loneliness, and how she doesn't want anyone to feel this way.

She tells her about the efforts it'll take and the time it'll steal, and how she'll need focus more than ever before, but that she'll never neglect their relationship. She tells her that the streets stole too much of her life, and that she can't wordlessly watch a thief rob the innocents anymore.

Bea responds by pulling Allie a little closer and pressing her lips to the blonde's in a soft kiss.

Bea tells Allie all about her motivation to get rid of Harry once and for all, all about the report she wants to file and the promises she needs to keep. She tells her about the laws that are imperfect and broken, and how they prefer to torture the victims rather than punish the guilty, but that she needs to believe in the system for the time being.

She tells her about how long the process might be, how difficult it might become, and how it might become a part of their life altogether. She tells her that she might not sleep for a while, and that she might be eaten away by the idea that she's going to make everything worse, but that she'll make it through, like she always has.

Allie responds by pressing their bodies together while their mouths fervently explore each other. Every kiss leads them farther from the one before, and every touch is wilder than the one before. Every moan breaks the silence while adding tension between their legs, and every gasp colors their minds with a new realm of possibilities.

Every time Bea is about to ask if they can stop, Allie reads her mind and slows down her kisses, gently easing their breaths. The air remains charged with electricity until the next moment, until a few seconds later, when _not enough_ makes them lose control again and everything becomes blurred again. A few blinks later and it all becomes _too much_ , and they can't stop until they force themselves to, and everything starts again.

They don't remember when they fall asleep, maybe just seconds before lust takes over, but eventually, they wake up, bruises on their necks, skin on fire and eyes still dark from the heavy make-out session from the previous evening.

* * *

A complaint

"We're going to be late."

"You don't even have an appointment with that girl."

"It's still rude if I arrive too late. And you're going with me, we want to make a good first impression."

"Are you sure she wants to meet me?"

"Yes… Maybe."

" _Maybe_?"

"We'll surprise her."

"I don't want to impose."

"You won't. I promise. Please?"

"Stop making your puppy eyes at me."

"But it's working, isn't it?"

"… Maybe."

An affirmation.

* * *

They laugh all the way to the street corner, Allie relentlessly teasing Bea about what she calls her "reckless behavior" from the night before. Everything seems perfect with the two of them as they walk together and share jokes no one else can understand. They don't want anyone else to understand anyway. The world can have its secrets, they'll keep theirs.

And then suddenly, Allie's hand is no longer in Bea's, and the blonde is gone, dashing to the next street like a madwoman who's chasing her sanity without ever finding it back.

"Where is she?!" Allie shouts when they arrive at the familiar street corner and the teenager is nowhere to be seen. The hat is gone. The girl is gone. Any trace that there ever was someone sitting here every day for the past few weeks is gone. "She's never not been here!"

She paces around the empty space that used to be their safe space, like her simple motion is going to make the teenager reappear suddenly. She sprints to the other street corner, somehow thinking that she got it wrong, despite knowing very well that she did not. She asks everyone who walks her way, but they all look at her like she's lost her mind, and maybe she did, because after all this time, she can't understand how the emptiness can be so meaningful.

She comes back to Bea, who's still a few meters away, with a lost expression on her face, like suddenly the physic laws of the universe are all wrong and she's teleported in a place that's out of time's and logic's reach.

She thinks it's stupid that the first time she came here, she tripped over the girl because she didn't see her, and today, she just sees the void left by her absence. She will never see anything than the shadow of the teenager now. Never.

"You see her once a day, maybe she'll come back?" Bea suggests, rotating her head and seeking the stranger she's set to meet today.

"I wish it was this simple," Allie mumbles, still searching around with so much energy that she isn't sure where it all comes from. "Just like the sun rises in the morning and sets at night, and how the sky is blue and the grass is green, her presence here is… it's inevitable. It doesn't change. It can't, unless something happened."

She kicks the ground where she knows the girl should be sitting, and then she sits at the exact same place, exhaling loudly in disbelief. There are too many thoughts going through her head, and she's trying not to let them take over her rationality, but they keep appearing and she can't dismiss them fast enough. She isn't sure which ones are good or bad.

Where is the girl? Did she finally succumb to the temptations of the streets? It wouldn't make sense, not after all this time, but Allie knows too well that a single word can trigger great things. Did someone find her and force her to move away? Did someone rob her hat again and she ran after them to a mystery destination?

Or did she just realize that she couldn't live in the streets, forever talking to a stranger who comes to visit her every day to talk about nothing?

"It's my fault. I told her I wanted her to be my reference and now she probably freaked out," Allie complains. "And I told her she'd meet you, and she obviously wasn't ready," she adds, frustrated with herself.

Bea looks down, her heart stretching painfully for the way Allie's eyes are suddenly full of tears.

"I don't know if I wish she'd gone, or if I wish she'd come back here. I have no idea where she went. If it's worse, I want her to come back. But if it's not, then I wish she stays wherever she is," Allie sighs.

Bea sits next to Allie and winces at how hard the cement is. She can't imagine spending all day sitting here. She can't imagine staying here under the sun without any protection, just burning and melting away from society until someone accidently steps on her ashes someday.

She wonders if she'll ever meet the mysterious girl Allie keeps talking about. Maybe it is too late. Maybe it's not, but they don't know it yet.

"I wanted you to meet her so badly," Allie says with a morose voice, eyes glued to where the hat would be, had it been here. "I wanted her to see you. To see that I didn't make it up. That you're real. That if I made it, so can she."

"Maybe she made it yesterday," Bea murmurs, leaning her head to Allie's shoulder. "You don't know. What's her name? Maybe we can find her."

Allie shakes her head quickly.

"I don't know her name. I never asked and even if I had, she wouldn't have answered."

She doesn't know her name, and the girl doesn't know hers, and they don't have any way to find each other again unless they both reunite here someday.

"How do you know, if you never asked?" Bea asks.

Allie inhales deeply like her mind is currently in outer space. She seems to think of her answer and opens her mouth to explain everything, but then she changes her mind and decides on a simpler reply.

"There are some laws, even in places ruled by anarchy."

"That is strangely poetic."

Allie chuckles quietly. She wishes she could explain everything to Bea, but she can't. There are things that she can't quite put into words, and the subtleties related to her life in the streets are parts of it. She can't tell Bea how it smelled when she hadn't showered in weeks, and how she wanted to crawl out of her skin and miraculously turn into a butterfly. She can't explain how it felt when she hadn't had food in weeks and she depended on the leftovers in the garbage bags behind restaurants. She can't tell Bea how it hurt to sit on the sidewalk all day and how relief flood through her when a coin was tossed her way.

She can't tell Bea how lonely it felt.

Bea can't understand unless she goes through it herself, just like Allie can't quite understand what Bea went through, even if she's experienced violence too.

They may be deeply connected, might understand what it is like to survive on a drop of hope every day, but there are details that keep them miles apart.

"I can't believe she did it," Allie smirks, eyes still tracing lines on the ground. If she tries hard enough, she can see the hat, and she can hear the sound made by the coins being tossed into it.

If she tries hard enough, she can see the stranger's eyes, lifeless until they aren't anymore.

If she tries hard enough, she can hear the stranger's voice, empty and cold until it becomes warm and welcoming again.

She can witness the birth of trust between them.

She can feel the friendship growing until they can't deny its existence.

She can feel the friendship, still lingering in the air, and she can taste it in the back of her throat.

And somehow, something within her breathes the air and feels only hope.

"She got out," Allie declares, strangely confident. "She must have. I talked to her for too long for her to end up like me. I warned her about everything and everyone. I told her not to take drugs and not to trust strangers. And I know she won't screw it up like I did."

Bea smiles silently, listening to her girlfriend's determination. They have no proof of anything, but the way Allie says it makes her believe it.

"I like where you are right now," Bea points out, nudging Allie's side with her elbow. "You didn't end up so badly."

Allie's eyes shine like sapphires when she looks at Bea.

She knows what Bea is trying to do and she takes it. She takes the distraction and compliments, and the pride. She accepts the present the way it is, a little flawed, but perfect regardless. She would do it all again if she needed to, just to find herself sitting on that sidewalk with Bea next to her while she worries about a teenager she knows too much and not enough about at the same time.

"You may be right, it isn't so bad," she answers with affection in her voice. "I like where I am."

"Maybe she was scared to meet me," Bea laughs.

"You're right, maybe she was too intimated by your presence," Allie adds pleasantly. "I spoke highly of you."

"What did you tell her?"

"Just the truth," Allie replies simply with one of her signature winks, grinning at the way Bea rolls her eyes at her.

Allie knows Bea is waiting for more details, but she stays quiet.

 _Just the truth_ means everything and if she adds something, she will ruin it.

 _Just the truth_ means that Bea is a miracle, the one Allie had waited for her entire life.

 _Just the truth_ isn't a perfect love story. It is an imperfect tale that fits them perfectly.

They sit here for a while, as Allie keeps glancing around and hoping that the teenager will meet them.

But no one comes, and time slips away from them, and Allie accepts the fact that today isn't the day Bea will meet the younger girl.

"I'm sorry I wasted your time," Allie declares when they get up.

"Time spent with you is never wasted," Bea responds wisely.

Allie laughs sourly and presses a light kiss to the other woman's cheek. She feels the sun heating her skin and she hopes that, wherever the girl is, she can feel it too. That way, they can still share something, as meaningless as it may seems to be.

The walk back is slow, like a funeral march, and Allie prays that tomorrow, the girl will be back with an adventurous tale to explain where she went today. It's a selfish thought, because what if the girl somehow won the lottery and is now living her best life, but that's what Allie wants.

A change to talk again, to ask her all the questions even though they'll remain unanswered.

She needs to know that there is a positive ending. She needs to know if she made the right choice by befriending her, and if what she gave her was enough, or if she forgot something that could have truly made a difference _._

She needs to know that the girl isn't lying in a ditch somewhere. She needs to know that the girl is fine and alive, and doing better than she was yesterday. She wants her to be doing better than yesterday. She wants the best for her, and this feeling is like instinct, it's a drive that she can't control. She _needs_ to know that the girl isn't lost on another street corner, swallowing shit to get through the days and thinking about ending her own life.

She feels like they'd been making progress, but she has no guarantee that her perception is the right one. What if she's been fooled by a mastermind all this time?

Knowing is better than not knowing. It's less painful, less stressful, less terrifying. It's better than wondering and wasting energy imagining the worst-case scenarios. It's better than living on false hope and rusty dreams. It's better than feeling a hole in her chest that can only be filled with closure that's no longer within her reach.

Not knowing means that she'll worry for the rest of her life. It means that she'll focus on the _what if_ rather than the reality. It means that she'll live with the knowledge that _yeah?_ was the last word they ever exchanged together.

She needs to know.

They walk by a police station and Bea tenses, and Allie immediately stops, glancing up with questioning eyes. She focuses on the woman next to her, shaking the girl away for a moment.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

She looks up, noticing where they are, and she waits for Bea to ask her.

She may not know where the girl is, but she knows what Bea's mind is focused on.

She may not be able to do anything for the girl, but she has more urgent matters.

"I know this is a bad timing," Bea hesitates after a minute, her eyes drifting away and focusing back on Allie's. "You might have other things on your mind and we can just come back another day. It's just…"

The last words are unspoken but they resonate loudly in Allie's soul.

 _If it's not now, I might never be ready again._

She stands a little straighter and places one arm over Bea's shoulders, embracing her gently.

"Let's go," Allie declares.

Bea glances up timidly.

"Yeah?"

Allie leads her in, all other thoughts left behind.

"Fuck yeah," she replies, and it feels like she's screaming it to the end of the world.

* * *

A name.

"Allie?"

"Hm?"

"Can you, maybe, if you want, you don't have to, but – "

"What do you want me to do?"

"Hold my hand?"

"Always."

A promise.

* * *

If she could stop time, she would see a pen hanging in the air, waiting for her to direct its movement with her voice and start the final act of the show. She would see the sheet of paper, waiting to be filled with her story, ready to bear her blood, sweat and tears, ready to carry her tragic legacy.

She would see Allie's careful eyes stuck on her, pouring hope and encouragements in her direction like a constant rainfall. She would see the police officer, facial expression hard and focused with years of experiencing the worst of humanity. She would see herself, mouth hanging open, a blink away from spilling everything she thought she could never say.

She would feel like the light is too bright for someone who's ready to free the darkness from within themselves. She would notice the tension in her legs, as if she were ready to bolt away at the first sign of disturbance. She would look at the door and wonder why her alter-ego isn't running for it, but then she'd listen to the absence of fear and accept that this is it, this is the moment.

She would take the clock in her hands and stare at the absence of motion for an unknown amount of time. She would gently reach for the second hand and give it a light push. She would move it one second forward and make everything burst with life again.

She is ready.

The process to file a report is painful to go through.

She has to remember every detail, every word that was ever said, every insult and every time she lost a part of her self-esteem. She has to remember every fight and every wound, every time she almost bled to death. She has to remember how she almost lost her future, and how she almost sacrificed her daughter's. She has to recall the nights she didn't sleep because she was aching everywhere, and the days she put on a fake smile on her face to fool the entire universe into believing that her life was beautiful.

It brings her back in time.

The clocks turn backwards until she's outside, on the porch, with nowhere to go and no one to call. It turns back again, and she's standing in the kitchen with broken glass all around her, and every step she takes might cut her open and peel her skin away from her body, transforming her to a bleeding cadaver. It turns back again until she sees flashes of the first time he raped her, the first time he punched her, the first time he yelled at her, and the first time he told her she was worthless. She travels back to their first kiss, their first embrace, and their first meeting.

She goes back to his charming smile and his captivating words, and the moment she'd thought she'd found the love of her life.

And then, she's back in the small office with Allie by her side and she knows, just knows with certainty, that this is the last time she'll ever go back in time.

When it is all over and they tell her that he'll be arrested within twenty-four hours while he waits for his trial, she feels like the cage around her heart has ultimately been smashed down. She thinks that this is a dream and that she will wake up any second now, but she doesn't, not even when Allie leads her outside, back into the chaotic real world.

They walk home, hands linked together, not caring whether someone sees or judges.

They're in love, and they're not scared anymore.

* * *

A past.

"Bea?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

A future.

* * *

Allie comes back to the street corner the next morning, her heart beating so fast that it acts like it has a mind of its own. She tries to breathe slowly, but after a few seconds, she gives up. Oxygen is good, isn't it? She can't die from breathing too much, can she?

She walks quickly and tells herself that it'll be alright if the girl isn't here, that it won't be the end of the world and that there are an infinite number of days on which she could come back.

But she sees it from afar, the way the corner is empty and the familiar silhouette is nowhere to be seen.

She stands still in the middle of the sidewalk and clears her throat embarrassingly whenever someone walks past her. She pretends like she knows what she's doing, but her lungs are having trouble processing the air she's breathing and she thinks she's choking on the huge chunk of sadness she just consumed. She could cry if she wasn't so frustrated and angry by the fact that she misses a stupid hat.

She wonders if she should sit there now, and save the place for the girl in case she comes back.

She wonders if she'll turn into the girl if she sits there too long.

She wonders if, all this time, she's just been trying to relive her past and avoid making the same mistakes by teaching the girl everything.

She waits for a few minutes that turn into a few hours, and it's just enough time for her heart to drop to the bottom of her stomach and dissolve into the acidic liquid.

She runs to the youth shelter. There's nowhere else for her to go, and she knows that she can't wait here indefinitely. She breaks many laws on her way, crossing red lights and jumping over fences, but she doesn't really care. She just needs to get there and ask the questions that are poisoning her throat.

She almost slams the door when she walks in. She doesn't recognize anyone, and there are two women who definitely weren't there last time who are staring at her like she just destroyed the balance of their well-organized room.

"Have you welcomed any new girl in here recently? Yesterday or today?" Allie asks quickly, reaching out to them. "Shorter than me, younger, pale skin, probably carrying an old hat and always looking away until you actually talk and listen to her?"

The tallest woman opens her mouth to answer when someone shouts her name and she excuses herself, leaving Allie with a dark-skin woman whose eyes twinkle maliciously.

"We haven't," the shorter woman says. "Can I help you?"

Allie glances around. She doesn't recognize anyone, and the place is still full of people.

"I came here a while ago and I told someone about this homeless girl I've been seeing a few streets away from here. I wanted someone to go talk to her, but he said it wasn't in your perimeter. I was wondering if you'd changed your mind, if someone went to talk to her recently?"

"I haven't met anyone new recently," the woman frowns, looking down at her notes. "I'm a community worker here. I'm Ruby. I'm in charge of the boxing program and I meet the kids to talk to them about it. If anyone showed up while I wasn't here, you can ask my sister, Rita, but otherwise, I haven't met her."

"Are you sure?" Allie insists. "She's very small, she could have just slipped away in a corner, but she's impossible to miss if you walk by her."

 _Impossible_ , Allie repeats mentally, thinking of how she almost missed her the first time.

 _Impossible,_ Allie repeats again, even though she never would have looked at her, glanced at her, had she not tripped on her the first time.

 _Impossible._ Unless she looks for it. Unless she works for it. Unless she finds her again, and all those who don't want to be found. Until she walks through the dark with them and forces them out of their dullest worlds.

"Are you in contact with the other shelters? With the other centers? Could you check if anyone's seen her? I can sit with you and you can draw her portrait if you need to. Or I can get my girlfriend to do it, she's great. She could be a professional artist," Allie gloats for a moment before her face gets serious again. "Would it work?"

Ruby laughs and places her hands on her hips, judging whether she should humor Allie a bit longer or not. She doesn't have the heart to tell her that there are thousands of lost kids in the city, and that looking for one in particular is a bit of a hopeless case. She doesn't have the heart to tell her that they receive hundreds of those requests every week and that there's not much they can do about them.

"What's the girl's name?" Ruby inquires politely.

Allie lowers her head and bites her lips. She should have expected that question.

"I don't know."

Ruby sighs and looks at Allie with apologetic eyes.

"I can't help you much then. I'm sorry," she apologies before she turns to speak to a young boy who has questions about the upcoming boxing activity.

Allie groans and stares at the walls plastered with posters from different organizations and different sensibilization campaigns. She could go everywhere, but that would take weeks, and she needs to find a job.

 _A job_ , she thinks again, frowning.

"If you're still trying to look for her, I can give you a list of phone numbers to call," Ruby announces once she's done with the boy. "It's a list of the shelters around here. Maybe she's found her way to one."

"I want to find her myself," Allie declares instead, her voice strong and sharp. "I don't just want someone to tell me that she's doing fine, if that makes any sense to you? I want to hear her say it to me. Or meet her."

She won't just tear a poster apart. She'll take the whole damn wall with her.

She is made of pure determination when she looks back at Ruby and sets her eyes on her.

"I want to work here."

Ruby smirks back at her like she can't believe what Allie is saying.

"Well, this is the first time I hear that one. We're not hiring at the moment, but that was a nice try, I'll admit it," Ruby retorts. "Look, I can't do much. I'll try to look out for her, but I make no promises. You can leave a phone number where to reach you, along with a description of who you're looking for, and if we have someone that matches, we'll call you."

Allie shakes her head negatively. She's not leaving until she gets _something_.

"This isn't an excuse, I want to stay here. I want to help."

Ruby still looks at her like she's waiting to hear a phone number, but Allie won't let's this intimidate her. She's played worse games in her life.

"I don't have anything, but I have knowledge. I was one of them, one of those kids. I lived in the streets, and I survived. I'm still surviving today, but I'm trying much harder to live freely. I know more than all those graduate nerds do," Allie spits out fiercely, forgetting for a moment that Ruby might be one of them. "I want to work here. Please. I'll do whatever you need me to do and I'll learn quickly, and if I'm not good, you can kick me out, but I need a chance. I need to start somewhere and it's going to take too long if I wait until I'm out of school."

She details her plan and her dreams, and she makes a step-by-step presentation of where she's been, what she's seen, and how she's had to survive on her own before. She talks about her own life like it is something _useful_ and _beautiful_ , and not shameful at all. She shares about her experience like it matters, like it will always matter, and like she will never try to hide it again.

She tells Ruby about the thousands of ways that she knows she can help people like her, and people that aren't like her, but that are living in terrible conditions. She tells Ruby about her tale as a survivor, as a warrior, and as a healer, and how it would all go to waste if she just gave up.

She tells her about how the beating of her heart left loneliness behind to create a symphony instead, how it plucks at her nerves gently, creating an extraordinary song, and how the chords on her skin are telling her story to the universe.

She tells her that it doesn't matter if she didn't graduate, because she already knows all the things not to say, and all the theory in the world couldn't teach her more than she already knows.

"It isn't that simple. We're not protected if something goes wrong and someone files a complaint against you if you mess up. You aren't protected either. One mistake could lead to the end of your career before it even starts," Ruby argues patiently. "I understand that you want to help people, but there is a proper way to do it."

"I can do it," Allie repeats like she's running for prime minister and this is the clue to her winning the elections.

"It's not just about whether you have the motivation or not," Ruby explains. "You clearly have the motivation. But…"

"Just say it," Allie challenges. "Whatever it is that I need to do first."

Ruby grins knowingly.

"You may have all the knowledge in the world, there are still things that you could do wrong. There are still things that you could say that could make a situation worse than it initially is, and if someone files a complaint against you for wrongdoing, you're done. You won't ever be hired anywhere else. You need the proper training for this field. You need to learn the way you could harm people unintentionally, before you can learn how to help them. You need to learn your rights as a professional, and the kid's rights too. If you start with us today, you won't make it. That much, I can assure you."

"How are you so sure?" Allie challenges.

"I made that mistake. I thought I could just teach a sport that I loved to those who needed something to focus on. I made a class, I taught people, and I changed some lives, but one person used those skills to beat the crap out of another kid because I didn't consider the individuals' needs."

Allie's eyes widen. She takes a second to think about everything Ruby says. It makes sense, and it frustrates her, and she wishes her life experience was enough to skip steps. It might take her years otherwise.

"Then I'll volunteer," Allie shoots back, daring, desperate and determined. "I'll be your shadow. I'll learn everything by watching you and if I overstep, you can tell me to fuck off. I just need a single chance to prove to you that I'm serious. I'll just be behind you and I'll do whatever you need me to do."

"I can't – "

"Don't send me back," Allie harshly snaps. She takes a deep breath to calm herself and she continues with a low voice. "Don't send me back when I've just found what I want to do for the rest of my life. I can do it. I mean it."

Ruby stares back at her with annoyance in her eyes, until that annoyance turns into something else. She glances up and down Allie's body and nods, satisfied. She thinks that if this blonde woman was on the boxing ring, she could probably last long enough to make it a tie.

"Alright then," Ruby declares. "You can try. One day per week only. It won't be easy, but I can tell you got some fight in you. After a month, if you're still motivated, we'll see about your options. I make no promises, maybe you'll have to go look somewhere else."

"That's fine with me," Allie states, trying to hide her satisfaction.

"And if you're still interested, you'll have to go to school. Feel too old for it? Think again," Ruby smirks. "You'll get to sit in three hours lectures for three years of your life before you're considered a professional."

"I'll see you in three years with a degree in my hands," Allie smirks back. "And then I'll beat you on the boxing ring."

Ruby laughs and extends her hand in front of her.

"Follow me then, just to file some paperwork. We can start next week. Be here at eight in the morning. The day starts early and it ends late. You better be ready."

Allie has a confident smile on her face and a small piece of paper in her hands when she leaves the center a few minutes later. They have to do a criminal background check, and she needs to give them a few references, but that's the easy part.

There's emptiness in her chest when she thinks of the girl, and a blissful feeling when she thinks of Bea, and despite having no money at all, she feels like she possesses an unmeasurable wealth at the moment.

* * *

"I need you to be my sugar mama a big longer."

"Excuse me?"

"Please, it's all part of my plan to rule the world."

"Allie."

"Bea."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"More than ever."

* * *

It's a hidden gem in the countryside, close enough to the city to rush back to an emergency room if needed, but far enough to taste the wilderness. There are mosquitoes greeting them when they get out of the small rented car, and they immediately loath the aggressive buzzing, but it's not enough to tame the exciting feeling that fills their hearts.

"I thought we were going camping," Maxine deadpans as she observes the luxury cabin that welcomes them.

It is small enough to be hidden by the surrounding trees, but its modern architectural style clashes with the green paradise stretching around in all direction. The glass walls are the guarantee that the view will be fantastic from everywhere inside the cabin, and the small balcony faces a small private lake.

"We are!" Franky argues, grabbing her bag from the trunk of the car. "We're outside."

"This won't be camping," Maxine points out with a clever tone. "It looks like a small hotel."

"It is camping! In Bridget's cabin! It's not my fault she's a licensed psychologist with lots of money to spend." Franky beams proudly, thinking of the woman who stole her heart and sanity. "And there's no way we would have survived in the wild."

"You could have mentioned it!" Boomer argues, her back bending under the weight of her ginormous bag full of camping gear that she borrowed from the different women she's come to know over the years. She struggles to gain her balance as she takes a few wobbly steps towards the cabin. "I came here with a ton of survival books."

"And ruin the surprise? You know me better than that, Booms. Today is about celebration. I wouldn't let us do that without proper bathrooms."

They rush through the rocky path leading to the front door, too busy arguing about whether this is camping or not to notice the two women left behind.

"This is insane," Allie declares, mouth wide open at the sight.

She's never believed that, once in her life, she would be part of the elite that can afford an expensive house in the countryside. She feels slightly out of place and she mentions it to Bea, who reassures her with a single glance.

"This may seem crazy, but I know Franky. She won't expect us to wear white gloves around the house and act like people we're not. And she said it too, this is a celebration," Bea adds. "I'm just relieved we found a moment we could all be together. Franky might have murdered me if I'd reject another one of her invitation."

"Does Bridget even know we're here?"

"That's Franky's problem," Bea chuckles. "I doubt she'd risk anything though."

They join the others, who are still in the middle of a heated debate, and open the door to a clean, spacious living room. The brick walls to their left strongly oppose the glass wall on the other side, and if they paid enough attention, they would notice that every accessory, every furniture, is complementary to another one, as if Bridget had planned it carefully.

"There are two rooms," Franky declares. "I don't mind sleeping on the couch. You don't want to sleep on it anyway," she adds slyly with a suggestive wink.

She ignores everyone's disgusted look and studies the rest of the group with serious eyes. She hums pensively, like her thoughts are running at full capacity. She points to the small stairway leading to the second floor.

"Bea and Allie can sleep in the guest room, but if I hear one suspicious noise, I'm coming in and I'm interrupting whatever horny activity going on. You have been warned."

"Say you?" Bea replies sarcastically.

"You would rather I don't interrupt you and have everyone hear you? It's your choice, Red, but I don't think you understand how serious I am."

Bea looks utterly horrified, but Allie grins widely like Franky just spoke a language she is fluent in.

"Maxie and Booms, you can share the master room. The bed is more than enough for the both of you. Booms, if anything happen to Maxie during her sleep, it's your job to save her life. Just barge in here and scream, and I'll do the rest."

Boomer nods, taking her role seriously, while Maxine shakes her head amusedly at Franky's orders.

"You know I only have one medical appointment left, right? And then they're transferring me to another hospital for another small follow-up until they officially declare me to be in remission. It's all mandatory, but my doctor said there is no trace of cancer anymore."

"Of course, that's why we're here to celebrate. And that's why you're leaving us," Franky says dramatically. "For the other side of the world. Never to be seen again. Now that you don't need us anymore. Throwing us away like we're garbage."

"But at least I'm going with her," Boomer interrupts. "Maxie and I are inseparable."

"And we're just going next town," Maxine says softly, "No need to be so tragic, we will still see each other."

"You're both missing the point here," Franky deadpans. "The point is, I'm going to miss having your beautiful faces around."

"You've gone soft on us," Maxine laughs. "The Franky I met at Wentworth never would have said that."

Franky scoffs like Maxine's words are beyond ridiculous and she points at the rooms, silently telling her guests to go unpack. She watches them scatter around the house and jumps to the couch to set her bag on it. She sinks into the comfortable leather and lets her thoughts wander. Away from the city, there's no distracting sounds that she can use as an excuse to live in denial.

If she listens carefully, she can hear the muffled steps of Bea and Allie as they walk around the room and probably gawk at the stunning view they have of the lake. She can hear the sound of bags being thrown on the floor and the quiet voices of their owners that reach her despite the distance. She thinks she hears Allie laughs at something Bea says, and then she thinks she's gone deaf and she assumes they've gone quiet to unite their lips together.

She smiles at the thought that Bea is finally getting the life she deserves. There's only so much a person can go through before madness takes them over, and she's relieved that Bea never reached that point.

She closes her eyes and focuses her attention to the room that exists at the end of a long hallway. She hears Boomer's excited voice talking about camping and firecamps and how she's going to punch any creature that lurks in the dark forest around them. She smiles when she recognizes Maxine's playful tone responding that there are no such creatures in the dark, only for Boomer to yell that she is an expert at martial arts and that Maxine shouldn't be damn scared too.

Franky hopes they thrive in that other city, even though her heart aches a bit more than she'd like to admit it. There's the familiar threat of loneliness just around the corner, and she'll spend her entire life taking detours to avoid meeting this familiar enemy.

Months ago, she couldn't trust anyone. And today, she would give her life for these women.

There's something magical about it, if she thinks of it. Something impossible about this situation.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and messages Bridget quickly, telling her that they have arrived safely and that the cabin hasn't been set on fire yet. Her smile is made of joy when she receives a quick message that tells her to be safe and that she is trusted not to burn the building to the ground.

She is trusted.

No matter how many times she's told those words, it still makes her feel warm inside.

When the group comes back, Franky quirks an amused eyebrow at them. Boomer wears enough layers to be protected against all the mosquitoes in the world while Maxine wears a single t-shirt with a small scarf around her head. Bea shyly glances around while Allie grins brightly.

"Are you wearing matching shirts?" Maxine teases, poking's Bea's shoulder.

Bea doesn't reply, but Allie nods eagerly, pointing at the same tiny seahorse's shape on their different colored shirts.

"How did this happen?" Boomer asks in disbelief. "You're whipped now, eh Bea?"

"Oh, piss off," Bea responds with a light smile. "I'm not. I'm just…"

"Whipped," Maxine finishes quickly, cracking up with Boomer.

Bea rolls her eyes, but the feeling of Allie's hand in hers makes her think that, maybe, just maybe, her friends might have something right.

Franky jumps off the couch and directs them outside. The sky is starting to darken already, giving the sky a dark blue shade and, even though they just drove a full three hours to get here, they're not tired. They will spend two days in this heavenly place, and they don't want to waste their time sitting inside, no matter how beautiful the cabin is.

"What do we start with?" Allie asks curiously, eying the dock from which she could jump into the water. There are two kayaks resting on the grass a bit on the side. There are also many smaller paths that disappear into the forest, no doubt leading to greater views. In the distance, she thinks she can see that the paths circle around the lake.

"We can just sit by the fire tonight," Franky suggests, taking a pack of beers with her. "It's dusk already. It'll be too dark to be on the lake and it's already too late to hike, unless you want to transform into the bugs' meals."

They all agree on the fire, and by the time they carry enough chairs outside for them to sit on, Franky has assembled a high pile of logs in the middle of a small circle of rocks. She adds a few pieces of papers and thinner branches. She completes everything with a mix of grass and smaller bits. She lights a match and carefully starts the fire.

It starts slow, almost dying at the first breeze carrying deathly air currents, but it strengthens and gains heat, and soon enough, it's creating sparks that reaches the larger branches. The flames lick the logs avidly, tasting the dry wood and forcing it to fall in love with their scorching heat. Within minutes, a tower of smoke reaches for the sky and different shades of red and yellow are uniting to consume their surroundings.

There's not a word at first, each woman too busy staring at the small volcano dancing before their eyes.

Boomer thinks that this must be the long-awaited adventure of a lifetime and that she wouldn't trade places for anything in the world. She takes a sip of her cold beer and savors its taste and the buzz that appears in her body.

Maxine thanks the skies that she's still here to appreciate the fresh air and the snarky mosquito bites. She wants the itches and the sunburns and the small, annoying pains of life. She'll take them any day over the one time she couldn't feel anything but torture in her body.

Franky claps her hands together a few times and snaps a quick picture to show Bridget the result of her work. She's incredibly proud of herself and she sends ten pictures to her girlfriend, without thinking about the fact that they all look exactly the same.

Allie stares dreamily at the fire, remembering that the last time she saw one as fierce as this one, it was in Bea's eyes when they went to file the report. She wants it to burn forevermore.

Bea feels the heat and her body buzzes under the idea that the logs represent her nightmares, going off in flames and being carried to the edges of the Milky Way. She sets her worries free and focus on the present.

"This feels good," she declares to the group. "Just being here."

"Doesn't it?" Franky replies cheerfully. "The first time Bridget brought me here, I couldn't believe it. I ended up almost drowning on a kayak tour, but it was fun."

"You never told me that!" Boomer protests, immediately getting up. "I'll destroy those death machines!"

She takes one step in the direction of the kayaks before Maxine's arm stops her from going farther.

"Sit your ass down, it was probably Franky's fault."

"Did you try to race Bridget?" Allie asks curiously.

"I would have won if that duck hadn't shown up out of nowhere!" Franky growls. "Animals."

"Oh yeah," Allie nods exaggeratedly. "How dare they live in the middle of a lake where there are no humans around them…"

Franky throws a bottle of beer at Allie's face, only for the blonde to catch it expertly and uncap it in a fluid movement.

"You don't wanna mess with me," Allie warns with an elusive smile.

"You really don't," Bea adds, falsely threatening Franky.

"No offense Bea, but you're a baby. You have no chance against me."

"That's not what happened on the beach, if I remember correctly," Bea recalls.

"That was _one_ time!" Franky protests. "One unique time. I'll get my revenge."

Bea hums and shrugs, immune to Franky's threats.

She smiles contently while Franky tries to add a few logs to the fire. They are in the middle of nowhere, she thinks, and yet this scene still feels incredibly appeasing. Domestic, even. Like they're just one big family and they've been living here since the creation of this planet.

She doesn't want to go back to the city and be trapped again on the highway of her responsibilities, but she knows she has no choice. There's her daughter waiting, and the debts she still has to pay back, and the fact that she needs to await the most stressful trial of her life.

She pretends there's a shooting star above her and she silently wishes that her tomorrows remain better than all her yesterdays.

"When are you leaving?" Bea breaks the silence with a loaded question.

She hasn't had the information for a long time. In fact, this whole weekend had been planned at the very last minute after an erratic phone call with a breathless Franky rambling about everything that she had just been told by Boomer.

Maxine had gone through a successful surgery and a mix of tests that all came back clear. She'd been transferred to another facility across the country to meet another doctor, who could do a reliable follow-up with the latest technology. She'd hesitated a long time before accepting, feeling like she would abandon her safety net to catapult herself into the unknown, but she'd eventually accepted that, no matter which direction she chose, she wouldn't lose the love that was given to her.

Boomer had been kindly asked that she finds a new place to stay because the shelter couldn't welcome her forever. She had momentarily panicked, feeling like she was back on track to lose this unfair game that is life, until Maxine had called her on a gloomy day to ask her if she'd consider moving to another city. She had accepted immediately, not thinking of the consequences at the moment, simply focusing on the fact that there was no way she would ever leave Maxine by herself.

It had been the only choice, the only option for Boomer. There had never been another road for her to follow.

Bea had been sad, and then devasted, to hear that she'd lose them.

No.

Not _lose_ them, but still close enough, too close.

She'd slowly accepted destiny, but it didn't mean that she had to like it.

Had it not been for these women, she wouldn't have made it so far, she's sure of it. She wouldn't have appreciated Wentworth as much, she wouldn't have gone to her daughter's side across the ocean, and she wouldn't have gotten an apartment so soon.

They aren't just her friends. They aren't just her family. They are the air around her, the ground underneath her feet and the blood in her body. They are the proof that life doesn't stop when her mind tricks her into believing that she's six feet under. They are everything.

"We'll stay for another week so I can go to my last appointment here, and then we're moving," Maxine explains.

"And when are you coming back?" Franky asks, mid-serious with a small laugh.

"Soon!" Boomer claims loudly, slamming her foot to the ground and raising a small cloud of dust. "I'm not leaving you for too long. You know I won't."

"But not _too_ soon, right Booms?" Maxine directs softly. "You told me you'd try to find a job first."

"Yeah. I need money to come back here to visit Franky," Boomer explains wisely. "And Bea too. And even you, Allie. I haven't known you for long, but you taught me a lot, you know. Sex… and sex."

There's a wild laugh that comes out from Allie's throat as she raises her beer to cheer to Boomer's words.

"Don't remind Bea or she'll crawl under a rock," the blonde giggles.

"I won't," Bea mutters under her breath, making everyone else laughs harder.

The laughter disappears slowly as the fire loses its energy. The darkness covers the group like a velvety blanket, and they find themselves wrapped in the universe itself.

Nostalgia hits them all at once, and the air becomes thicker, trickier to breathe.

Boomer swallows the insults she wants to throw at the emptiness around them, because how dare it exist, how dare space exists, if it will only keep them apart? She made the decision to move away to be with Maxine, but she wishes she could bring everyone along.

Maxine feels like the air is made with particles that add a heavy weight to her chest. It makes her heartbeat irregular and a little more painful, and she knows for a fact that it isn't due to a physical condition this time.

Franky looks at the fire until her eyes hurt, and only then does she allow herself to blink. That way, if she cries, she can blame it on something other than her own feelings. She kicks a log with the tip of her feet and a river of sparks flows through the air, decorating their surroundings with a cloud of ephemeral fireflies.

Allie's smile is still lingering in her lips, but it's gone by the time she takes in the lost eyes of the people around her. She finds herself thinking of this group, this marvelous crew that she ended up being a part of against all odds. She's had friendships and lovers in the past, but none of them ever made her feel like she does right now, like she belongs, for now and forever.

Bea feels nothing but love when she looks up and loses herself in the raven firmament. She'd never thought she deserved love. She'd never thought she would find friends. She'd never believed in herself, never believed that she would make it on her own. She'd lost her confidence too long ago and she'd struggled with her own mind for an eternity. Until today. Today, she feels loved and she knows she's worthy of everything she has.

"I'll be sad without you," Franky confesses gently to the two women who she considers to be her best friends. "But you go and conquer the world for me, yeah? And Booms, no more violence, yeah?"

 _I'll be a little sad, and a little lost, and a little distressed, but I don't want you to stay if you'll find yourselves somewhere else._

"Oh, love," Maxine sighs, caressing Franky's head gently. "I'll miss you too. I'll never stop missing you. You changed my life."

"I never had friends before," Boomer declares absently, looking at Franky with tears in her eyes. "You were the first one to not… look at me like I was shit. You didn't judge me for being me."

Franky's lips curl up to a lively grin.

"Don't you dare cry, Booms."

"You shouldn't have said all that crap!" Boomer complains as a single tear rolls on her cheek. She waves her hands in the air like it's going to make everything better. "It's your fault! Not mine! Fuck off!"

Franky moves her chair closer to Boomer's.

"I'm gonna miss you, alright?" she whispers quickly, forcing the tears away from her eyes.

"Then, just come with us! Why don't you come with us?" Boomer accuses quickly.

"I have… someone here," Franky smiles gently. "And a job that I love. And it doesn't mean you're not important to me. Both of you," she adds as she glances to Maxine.

Boomer shakes her head quickly, the heaviness of the moment finally crashing onto her. She clenches her fists and for moment, it seems like she's going to start a fight with the fire.

"Just think of puppies, Booms," Franky murmurs loud enough for everyone to hear. "Puppies and jelly. Remember? The first time you wanted to hit someone at Wentworth?" She turns to Bea and Allie. "You weren't there, but I told Booms to think of that, and it just… worked wonders. Strange, isn't it? Who would have thought!"

"Puppies and jelly. I get this picture in my head of puppies jumping around in jelly and they're all mushy and cute and sticky. Then I don't go bunta anymore," Boomer explains, satisfied with herself and the images popping in her head, sadness drifting away slowly.

"Puppies and jelly?" Bea repeats, blinking a few times.

"Nah, you got it all wrong. It's not just puppies and jelly. That's boring. It's puppies _jumping_ _around_ in jelly," Boomer repeats confidently, her smile wide and her eyes glittering.

Bea nods understandingly, like she knows that Boomer is speaking the truth.

"Tell me more about where you got that idea," she throws at Franky. "I'm curious about what you had in mind for that to happen."

The wind smells like campfire, the lake looks like the darkest mirror, and the shadows dancing around strangely reminds her of an enchanted forest from another realm. There are birds tweeting harmonious melodies, and there are burning stars rotating far above her head, and everything about this moment is wild and exciting and full of wonderful possibilities.

Boomer is laughing until she can't breathe anymore, and Franky is staring at her with constellations in her eyes, and Maxine is still trying to hide the waterfalls lurking behind her eyelids. Everything and everyone feels real and authentic, and Bea wonders if this is the end, or the beginning, or just time following its course and proving her that she made the right choice to never give up.

She turns her head to look at Allie, only to realize that the bluest eyes are already shining at her with admiration.

She smiles the way someone does when they're hopelessly and irrevocably in love.

This is happiness.

* * *

Well, I got busy with life and I make no promises on when the last two chapters will be released, but I hope you'll all be around to read them.

Thank you for reading!


	18. I dreamed a dream of you and me

**I started this chapter in my hotel room at Wentworth Con, wrote 75% of it before July and then... I got busy.**

 **I hope you enjoy reading this mix of drama and fluff.**

 **Chapter's title comes from "The Dawning of Spring" by Anson Seabra.**

* * *

 **Chapter 18: I dreamed a dream of you and me**

 _This is the greatest moment of her life._

 _This is the beginning of her real life, the one she deserves. It's the moment that defines the end of her childhood and her entrance into the fabulous world of adulthood. This is the opportunity for her to leave her toys behind and to say goodbye to her plushies. This is the chance for her to prove to her parents that they don't have to watch her every second of every day._

 _They won't lock her inside anymore. They won't tell her to stay calm or to eat her vegetables. They won't be able to order her to stop watching television even when the sky is black outside. They won't be able to stop her, for she will be free to go wherever she wants, whenever she wants._

 _She looks proudly at her brand new bicycle. It shines under the light of the rising sun and its vivid turquoise shade pairs beautifully with her excited eyes. She beams at the absence of the two little wheels in the back, thinking without any doubt that she will be able to go faster than lightning._

 _Allie is five years old and she is ready to earn the respect she knows that she deserves._

 _She stands, confident and fearless, and her blonde hair fly with the wind as she secures her small hands around the two handlebars of the bike. She sits comfortably on the saddle and she wobbles side to side, trying to get used to the feeling of being higher than she was on her previous bicycle. She smirks at the calm, empty road stretching before her. She dares it to stop the tsunami of determination that's about to roll down its path._

 _She falls._

 _Of course, she does._

 _Once, twice, and then three more times. She doesn't last very long on the small vehicle. She constantly struggles to remain in control, to keep her balance intact, and eventually, she gains another second, and she wins over another one, and she survives through a third one. When she feels safe enough, perhaps too soon for her to fully comprehend the danger she's facing, she heads down the small hill that goes up the next road._

 _She goes against the wind and defies the skies with her indestructible smile as the view around her spins out of control. She keeps smiling when she falls and gets scratches all over her legs. They're small enough that she doesn't bleed and she gets up again, and again, and it hurts, and after the fifth time, it bleeds a little, but, still she refuses to give up._

 _She was born a warrior, no one will tell her otherwise._

 _She spends an hour trying to get out of the same familiar surroundings, riding her bike with as much energy as she can. She finds herself unable to beat her time record of a mere ten seconds. After another failed attempt, she screams at the_ _damn object, blaming it for everything, accusing it to ruin her entire life. It is obviously the bike's fault that she cannot succeed._

 _Until she stops falling._

 _Until she starts flying. It happens like a miracle. One second, she's standing still, and the next one, she's rocketing to the other side of the world. She almost doesn't believe it, but she squints her eyes to focus on where she's going, and before she knows it, she's speeding by the stop sign like a firework. She yells when she hears a car honk at her, and adrenaline rushes through her limbs like a limitless drug._

 _She squeals with fear and excitement, and then she gasps in terror when she realizes she doesn't know how to make this chaos go away. She spends an infinite second trying to gather the courage to slow down, and when the road starts to transform into an uphill slide, she finally sets her foot on the solid ground._

 _She almost kisses the rocks under her, but she stops herself right on time, thinking that this is gross, and she doesn't want to be gross like those little boys that attend her school. Instead, she looks up and wipes the emotions away from her eyes._

 _She freezes._

 _There's someone looking at her. She stays still like a statue, surprised by this sudden appearance. She thinks that she should bike away as fast as she can, but the stranger's gravity keeps pulling her in. The girl is slightly older than she is and she's staring at her with eyes that are colored with laughs and a smile that is sweeter than her favorite candy._

" _Hey!" the girl asks with a crooked grin. "Are you okay?"_

 _There's a hole in the middle of her grin where she's missing her front tooth, and Allie thinks that this is the funniest sight in the world._

" _I'm fine," she answers, too proud to admit that she'd just thought she was going to crash in a tree. "I don't need your help."_

" _I wasn't offering any help," the other girl smirks devilishly. "My name's Bea. What's yours?"_

" _Allie."_

" _That's a nice name."_

" _Thanks," Allie replies hesitantly, unsure whether to say more or not. Her parents keep telling her not to talk to strangers, but this Bea looks friendly, and she could use a new best friend._

" _Are you learning?" Bea asks curiously, pointing at the bike. "My dad taught me last year."_

" _I'm not learning," Allie replies stubbornly. She's five. She wants to impress this person, no matter what it costs her. "I know how to do it."_

 _To prove her point, she sits on the saddle and steadies herself calmly. She doesn't want to humiliate herself in front of this ridiculously cute girl who wears a smug look on her face that makes her even more charming._

" _Watch me," Allie declares._

 _She starts pedalling slowly and grins when she gets her balance right. She makes it for a few seconds before she turns harshly and the wheels shriek on the ground. The bike has a mind of its own when it brings her closer to the floor until she hits it with a quiet thud._

 _She falls._

 _Of course, she does, again._

 _And she falls directly on one of her previous scratches and the pain shoots through her leg. It starts to bleed, and Allie, reacquainting with the feeling of being a small child in this huge universe, winces as a few tears roll down her cheeks._

 _She tries to stop crying, but the only thought that appears in her mind in that moment is that she wants her mother to be there to hold her. Her mother would know what to do, she would know how to make the pain stop, how to make the bleeding go away. She opens her mouth to cry out for her, but Bea interrupts the imminent explosion._

" _Come with me. My house's two streets down and my mom will help you." Bea suggests, kindly extending a hand to help the blonde child get back up._

 _Allie hesitates for a second before she accepts. She gets up and glues her lips together to prevent them from shaking. She skips next to Bea as the older girl carefully carries the bicycle along._

" _Are you sure you weren't learning?" Bea teases gently as they turn the corner and the salted air surrounds them in a moment._

 _They're so close to the ocean and Allie wonders why it took her so long to realize it._

" _You live next to the beach?" Allie jumps excitedly, avoiding the other girl's question. All thoughts of pain are nearly gone as she thinks of the soft sand between her toes and the blue waves she could twirl in._

" _I do, but we're not going," Bea laughs. "We're going to see mom. She'll clean your wound. And trust me, salted water on that would be a horrible idea."_

 _Allie pouts and crosses her arms against her chest, but Bea's decision stays the same. This isn't the time to play, this is the time to be responsible._

 _Allie decides now and then that being an adult sucks and she regrets everything she'd previously thought on the matter._

 _They climb the stairs leading to the front door of a small house, and Bea walks in, screaming that she's not alone._

 _A few minutes later, there's a bandage with unicorn prints around Allie's wound, and she's racing toward the beach with a million suns dancing in her eyes, her hand tightly holding Bea's._

* * *

Allie wakes up.

She sets her eyes on Bea and a smile blooms on her lips.

The sun is bright and she wants nothing more than to close her eyes again, to find solace in the darkness.

But darkness doesn't compare to the sight of Bea, to the way it soothes her heart and hypnotizes her, forcing her to fight the need to blink.

She longs for the ocean and she wonders what it means.

* * *

"This isn't what I expected to be doing today," Allie states as she carries a few bicycles with her.

She's holding three of them and she's trying not to let any of them fall on the sidewalk while Ruby walks beside her. The machines are light and decorated with vibrant colors and Allie secretly wishes that one could belong to her.

"What did you expect to do?" Ruby asks with a curious voice.

Allie thinks about her answer carefully. She's on her second week with Ruby and she has yet to go talk to people about how to reach out for help. Instead, she's been walking around, delivering bikes to youth centers.

She's tried looking for the girl, but she hasn't been outside enough. Instead, she's learned how to file statistics and police reports, and while they are useful things to know, they're not the part that excite her most.

"I'm not sure. I thought we'd be giving away some food or clothes," Allie frowns, slightly frustrated. "Talk to people around, sit down with the kids who are taking drugs or who are at risk of taking drugs? Direct them to places that can help them? Why are we even carrying bikes around?"

Ruby grins, remembering when she was at Allie's place, questioning her own mentor and feeling helpless.

"You're going too fast," she says. "You want to give them the essentials, and I get that, but that's where many make a mistake. Food, as important as it is, is temporary. You can give each of these kids money to go to a restaurant, but tomorrow, they'll be standing at the very same place, asking for the very same food."

Allie agrees silently, still wondering why bikes are more important than saving people from starvation.

"Most of these kids, they can't go anywhere. They don't have money to take public transport and they're stuck in an environment that is bad for them. Poor neighborhood, easy access to drugs, inadequate frequentations, I could go on and on. With these," Ruby points to the bikes, "we're giving them a way to escape from those places. We could give them food, but I'm sure you know that they'd take that food and exchange it for drugs, one way or another."

Allie wants to reply that this is impossible, but a very vague memory of her younger self doing just that appears in her mind and she keeps her mouth shut. She wonders what she could have gone, had she had access to one of these flamboyant machines when she was young.

"They can't ride those bikes if they're high," she says instead.

"They can't do anything until they can," Ruby replies patiently. "Whether they're high or not, they'll be aware that they have this possibility to escape. It's better than believing they have no option. With bikes, they can think of finding a job that isn't restricted to their area. They can explore other parts of the city, places that aren't riddled with drugs dealers or haunted with past nightmares. Mobility is important and people often forget that part. That's why so many are stuck in cycle of poverty."

Allie nods absently, her arms aching under the weight of the bicycles. It makes sense and she knows Ruby is right, but it doesn't stop her from wanting to do more.

"I know you're impatient," Ruby says. "I was too, and I promise, what you'll learn in one month by following me is just the tip of the iceberg. Let's start with today, yeah?"

And Allie learns.

She learns that people won't speak to her until they've gotten used to her presence.

She learns that people won't look at her unless she has something to offer them.

She learns that people won't trust her unless she's with Ruby.

She learns that she can't do all the things she wants to do because her lack of knowledge handicaps her in a way that didn't when she interacted with the teenage girl.

So she sighs, observes and tries to remember every detail that matters when it comes to intervene with people in crisis situations.

She learns so much that, as the day comes to an end, she feels like she hasn't learned anything at all.

* * *

 _It's their last night before graduation. It's their last day together before they get catapulted to different sides of the country, each of them following their own paths._

" _Where are we going?"_

" _You'll see! Follow me."_

 _The two teenagers run across the shore, feet splashing in the sea as the waves come and go. The ocean is black and endless before their eyes. They guide each other to a land unknown and carefully craft a mental map of where they come from._

" _Where?" Bea frowns, following a blonde silhouette that keeps on racing to a distant dune. "Are you sure you know where we're going?"_

" _Do you trust me or not?"_

 _Bea rolls her eyes and reluctantly marches on. Of course, she trusts Allie with her life. They are soulmates after all, inseparable ever since they met, so long ago that Bea can't even remember it. But despite their undeniable chemistry, she also trusts Allie to get them into a shitload of trouble. It doesn't help that the clock is almost reaching midnight and that the only source of light comes from the lone full moon above their head._

 _They follow the shore until it comes to an end and the sand turns into bigger rocks. They climb over them, mindful of their steps so they don't accidently slip in the water. The ocean's melody is transforms the hike into an adventurous quest and they keep climbing until they reach a small path that disappears between bushes._

" _We're almost there," Allie declares, walking head first between the bushes._

" _We're going to be killed," Bea hushes as she quickly follows the other girl. There's no way she's getting left behind in this place. "We're going to die and no one will ever find our bodies."_

" _We're only going to be killed if you tell someone about it, which I know you won't because you care too much about me to get me in trouble," Allie sings lightly, confidently leading the way._

" _Can't say the same for you," Bea mumbles under her breath as a branch almost cuts through her skin. There's a mix of fear and excitement in her mind as she walks behind Allie for a few minutes. The bushes vanish and a flat land replaces them. Bea gasps quietly at the sight before her._

 _A tall lighthouse stands in front of them, its light gone but its presence still mystical, as if this giant was simply waiting for the right signal to wake up again. The entrance is closed, but Bea can see a small stairwell twirling inside the structure, leading to the top floor. The place is old, she's sure of it, and despite its impressive height, Bea thinks that it would crumble to dust if someone were to walk in._

 _Bea flinches when she feels Allie's hand softly touch hers._

" _Let's go," Allie winks. "I found this place a week ago. It doesn't look good, but it's safe."_

 _No way. No fucking way, Bea wants to say, but no sounds come out of her mouth because right now, Allie could invite her to cross the gates of hell and she would eagerly follow._

 _The door is unlocked and they push it open. It creaks and the sound echoes in the narrow space that leads to the top. There's a spiderweb hanging above their heads and if Bea didn't know any better, she'd think she was the lead in one of those horror movies she absolutely despises._

 _Allie goes in first, safely holding Bea's hand as they both climb the stairs slowly. Every step they make guides them closer to the top, where a cold breeze that was born on the other side of the planet welcomes them. They stand at the top of the world, at what feels like it is the edge of the universe._

 _If Bea focuses long enough, she can imagine the sound of the boats navigating closer to the shore and she can almost see the tunnel of light piercing through the darkness to guide them to safety._

" _Here," Allie points to small backpacks that await them on the gallery. "I brought us some drinks." She pulls out two cans of beer. "Stole it from the parents."_

" _We can't drink," Bea protests despite the intrigued look in her eyes. "We're not even adults!"_

" _No one will see us," Allie points out as she opens the first can and hands it to her._

 _Bea waits a moment, wondering if she should listen to the small voice in her head that tells her that this is illegal and that she is way too young to be breaking the laws. The charming look on Allie's face convinces her to become Allie's partner in_ _crime. She thinks that, worst case scenario, they'll rule prison together and dominate the dark spheres of society._

 _They sit together, leaning against the structure while they face the vast scenery in front of them. The few meters that separate them from the emptiness aren't enough to prevent them from having vertigo, and it doesn't help that they can hear the waves crashing against the bottom of their sacred place._

 _Bea takes a sip from the can of beer. The bitter taste makes her almost spit the drink out, but she swallows slowly and soon enough, a strange warmth invades her body. It is an unknown feeling and she doesn't dislike it. She glances at Allie and laughs when she sees the blonde's cheeks turning pink._

" _Have you ever had alcohol before?" Bea asks curiously, wanting to know if there are still things she doesn't know about the person who owns her heart._

" _No, and I don't understand why adults like it," Allie frowns, reading the words on the can. "It tastes disgusting."_

" _Why did you bring them then?!"_

" _Because! It's our last day together before everything changes. We need to celebrate."_

" _You're insane," Bea chuckles. "We could have just talked without all of this," she gestures to the lighthouse and the beer, "like normal people."_

" _But normal is boring," Allie shrugs. "And we were never normal. You're crazy, and I'm crazier, and together, we're a perfect fit. I don't want to do things everyone else does, and I'm sure you don't either. And what better way to remember our last day? No one knows we're here. I doubt people even know this place exists. It's ours. Forever."_

 _Bea nods, agreeing with everything that comes out of Allie's mouth. They were never normal. They got along the second they met, they went to the same school, kicked the same bullies' asses, and earned a reputation of being the most extravagant duo of their year._

 _This place can be their own. They may not be able to afford a house yet, they may not ever get their own private island, but this place, this lighthouse, it's theirs for the night. Anything they say, anything they do, it'll remain safely locked away_ _from intruders. Safe from Time._

 _They finish their beers slowly, cursing the taste but reveling in the way the shape of the moon changes gradually as they drink more and more._

" _We have to promise that we'll come back here," Allie whispers after a few minutes. "Even if it's years later, we have to come back together."_

 _There's a lingering sadness hovering around them and the air grows heavier as the night takes control of the atmosphere._

" _We will," Bea promises, resting her head on Allie's shoulder. "I don't see a future in which I won't come back here with you."_

" _Say the one leaving the city to go study somewhere so far I can't even find it on the map!"_

" _You're overreacting," Bea laughs harder. "It's just three hours away."_

" _Four. Even five, with traffic," Allie replies strongly. "Who knows what will happen then. Long distance, it doesn't always work."_

" _Long distance can't beat us. I'll miss you too," Bea whispers. "I won't let this break us."_

 _She'll miss her more than anything, anyone else, but they'll always have this strange timeless place to call their own. The scent of the salted air is engraved in her brain, just like the sweet smell of Allie's clothes._

 _She thinks she could not have found a better person to fall in love with._

" _I know," Allie smirks, pushing back every voice telling her that they might not make it. "You love me."_

 _Bea grins widely._

" _I do."_

" _Great. Now kiss me."_

* * *

Bea wakes up.

She blinks confusedly at the dream still intertwined with reality.

Secret wishes and daunting possibilities.

Drunken promises and stolen kisses.

She vaguely remembers a blurred universe where everything was the same and everything was different.

She glances at Allie.

She wouldn't trade places for anything in the world.

* * *

Her stomach is a rock.

A hard, solid, heavy rock. Her heart is a broken metronome that can never settle on the right rhythm. Her chest is bleeding out as she tries to breathe. Every rib is a chainsaw tearing through her lungs, and everything inside of her feels like it is being torn apart.

She didn't sleep last night, after her dream. She kept waking up, tossing around and moving in the bed, trying to stop being so cold or so hot, or so nauseous. She couldn't stay still for more than a few minutes without feeling like the ceiling was going to crush her.

She feels like every step she takes will make the ground disappear under her feet, like every gasp of air she takes might slit her throat open, and like every glance she throws around shows her a fake version of this world. She thinks her body only exists to punish her, to convince her that she's made the wrong decision and that she shouldn't be here right now.

She takes a deep breath. It chokes her and she wonders how she is supposed to stay alive if the air itself stops being breathable. What if everything conspires to end her life? What if Karma has changed its mind and decided that she doesn't deserve a happy ending?

"it's going to be alright," her lawyer reassures her while they wait for the trial to begin. "We prepared for this, remember? We're ready."

"We have no proof," Bea nearly screams.

"We do," her lawyer answers. "We have the hospital reports that show you were there when you needed help."

"That doesn't… It's not enough. I haven't been enough times."

"Trust me, I have this. My job is to win this case for you."

It doesn't work. These words have no effect on her panicked state of mind because _he_ 's here, and he's looking at her with arrogant eagle eyes. He's scanning her from head to toes and he's analyzing every non-verbal cue he can get. He's laughing and smiling, unbreakable before the possibility that it might be the end for him.

He's invincible.

Bea trembles under his stare, because even if she's healed, he still reminds her of the past. She stays quiet as the judge enters and the people rise, and she keeps her mouth shut as her lawyer introduces the case and all the reasons why Harry Smith should have his freedom taken away from him.

She's refused to speak in court. She's given her testimony to her lawyer, she's said everything she had to say, and she doesn't want to repeat it again. They can have her mind and her memories once, but they won't have what's left of her sanity.

They can't force her to relive the past again.

Allie is holding her hand and it feels like the only reminder Bea has that this is really happening.

She feels suffocated by everything and everyone around her. She just remembers that, once upon a time, she filed a report for manslaughter, and today, she's witnessing the end of her long road in the justice system.

She had never expected that road to be so damn tortuous.

Lawyers take turns stating their facts while the jury carefully takes notes. The judge patiently waits and directs order, sometimes offering some clarity to the jury. Bea zones out while her lawyer mentions the time Harry grabbed her by her hair and yanked her down until she could swear she heard her skull crack open.

Her story doesn't belong to her anymore. It's everyone's.

She made it a long way by herself. She walked amongst the creepiest paths, she got lost in places she wishes she could burn to the ground. She raced for her life, lost too many times to count, and learned that, despite all of it, she can still reach the finish line before it's too late.

She doesn't have to be alone anymore, she thinks as she feels Allie's hand squeezing hers.

She's violently brought back to the court when she hears that Debbie is called as a witness.

Bea agreed for her daughter to testify in court weeks ago, and now she wishes she could take it back because she sees the way Harry's eyes light up with hope, as if he believes that his daughter is his key to freedom.

And for a mere moment, she believes that he's right and that Debbie will ruin everything.

Debbie states her name, swears that she will say nothing but the truth, and before Bea even understands what is happening, she's hearing horror stories coming out from her daughter's mouth.

"I'm not here because I want to be," Debbie explains to the court with the confidence of a person who's done this a million time. Bea's lawyer prepared her well. "I'm here because I have no choice if I want my mother to be safe."

"You are the defendant's daughter, is that correct?" Bea's lawyer interrogates.

"Yes."

"You do not live with the defendant, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Can you explain to the court why you have concerns about your mother's safety?"

Debbie nods, reciting a speech she's practiced many times in the privacy of her room.

"If my father wins today, I'm scared he will retaliate against my mother. Or me."

"And how is that?"

"He could kill us," Debbie responds coldly, blocking all her emotions away.

The answer is obvious, or at least, it's supposed to be.

Except it's not. Nothing ever is in these situations.

"Please, elaborate for the jury."

Debbie takes a deep breath and silently glances in her mother's direction. She waits for a silent approval before she speaks again, her heart thudding in her chest and her stomach pumping acid all over her guts.

She's wearing her most formal attire, a suit she was given for the occasion, and it's hot, so damn hot that she can feel her body sweating, revolting against the thick fabric. She hates lawyers and courts and judges, and their fancy little world that requires pristine etiquette and intellectual vocabulary from another universe. She hates that she has to appear calm and composed when she could yell and cry and convince them within seconds that her mother is telling the truth.

But they would only see her a hysterical daughter unfit for court trials. They wouldn't hear her, so she stays calm and she controls the million tiny volcanoes roaring under her skin.

She doesn't look at her father. She's afraid she'll change her mind if she does. And maybe, a part of her refuses to look at him and thinks that this is the last sight she has of him before he's shipped in prison.

"He was violent. He thinks I don't know this because I was young. I know he hopes I don't remember, but I can't forget my mom's screams, or her tears, or the way she'd hide her bruises when she thought I wasn't looking. She thinks I've forgotten too. They both like to act like a child is too young to understand, but I saw everything. I thought it was… normal. At first, I thought that this was how family life should be, but then I met other people and I saw how wrong everything was."

"How long ago did this start?"

"I don't know. I just know it's the way it's been since I was born."

Bea's eyes fill with tears and it takes everything she has to muffle her cry. She'd do anything to give her daughter a chance at a normal childhood again.

"He would grab her hair and throw her to the floor and just… kick her. Again and again, when he thought I was asleep. But I wasn't, I was looking. He would beat her and then pretend like it was a misunderstanding. He would tell her what to eat, what to do, where to go and who to call. He would only let her out for her job, and that's because she gave him a lot of money. And the names… he would call her so many names that I can't repeat."

"Could you give us a specific example?"

"He would tell her that she was worthless whore and that he would kill her if she didn't do better," Debbie recalls painfully. "And you know why? Because she bought the wrong meal at a restaurant. He gave me money to get pizza and told me to leave. When I came back, it was different. Mom was sitting on the couch in silence and dad was gone. When I went to sit next to her, I saw that her shoulder had this weird purple shape on it."

"Thank you for this insight. And how old were you when that happened?"

"Eleven."

She couldn't talk to anyone about it. Her friends wouldn't get it. She was about to leave elementary school. She hadn't wanted to be remembered as the kid whose mother is imprisoned in the cycle of domestic violence.

Today, she realizes how stupid that logic was.

"Did this happen again?"

"Many times," she says. Some of them, she'd rather forget, like that time she woke up in the middle of the night, only to hear her mother crying behind the wall. She'd listened to this tragic lullaby until sleep had granted her mercy.

It had happened again.

And again.

And too many times.

"And what would your mother do in turn to those events?"

"I- She never did anything, but you shouldn't blame her for this," Debbie quickly adds, the pressure in her chest increasing at the thought that she can give the judge the wrong idea. "She didn't mean anything wrong. One day, it got so bad that I wanted to call the police. Mom stopped me. She had blood in her eyes and her face was swollen like never before. But she said I started school tomorrow and she couldn't risk ruining this for me. Every time I wanted to call someone, she told me that it was fine, so I stopped asking."

Bea looks down, shame trapping her in its claws.

"And where was your father when these moments occurred?"

Debbie risks a look in her father's direction. She finds him looking right back at her, eyes holding nothing but emptiness. No regrets. No pain. Nothing.

She hears the silence around her as everyone holds their breath.

Surely, they wonder, a father wouldn't do that.

Surely, they argue, a father would care for his daughter.

Surely, they believe beyond doubt, it can't be _that_ bad?

"I don't know. I think he was drinking, but I don't know," Debbie slashes their beliefs like a skilled knight. "I… I used to protect him. I couldn't believe that he would do this because he never touched me. He never screamed at me and he would give me so many gifts. I wanted to believe that he loved me, right? He just loved kicking my mom's face more."

She knows that she should have listened to her earlier, and maybe she'll spend the rest of her life regretting it, but at least now, she's doing something good.

"Is it true that your mother left him while you were studying abroad?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel about this?"

"I was happy about it," Debbie admits. "It's the best way. I know they weren't happy together. It's the only way she could get better. I don't think he would have let her leave. She had to run away. He never hit me directly so I wanted to stay with him regardless, but… He just made it impossible to live with him. And I suffered from him."

"How so?"

"I protected him. I shouldn't have, but this is what happens when your father does that. You can't hate him, not really. At least for me, I couldn't. But I made wrong choices. I got caught up with the wrong people and I almost..."

She pauses, the memory of falling asleep cutting through her consciousness.

"I almost died," she whispers, eyes fixating on her mother's. "And I'm sorry. I know better now and it's only because of my mom. She saved my life even when I didn't want her to. I just hope the jury saves hers."

"No more question, your honor."

It takes five seconds for Debbie to walk out of her seat and run to her mother's side.

It takes ten minutes before the lawyers fight again, both trying to defend their client's rights as best as they can.

Bea's lawyer argues that the diverse types of violence perpetrated against Bea illustrate Harry's nature which, unless stopped, will keep pushing him to act violently. The risk of recidivism is high and no treatments work fast enough to prevent another disaster from happening within the next weeks. The lawyer adds that the victims have suffered from physical, emotional, economical, psychological and social consequences from the violence and that justice must be served in response.

Harry's lawyer that his client a good father regardless, that he never harmed his child and that, if the violence was so bad, then Bea Smith should have left before it got to this point of no return. He blames the victim and protects the aggressor, and by his fifth argument, Bea is wiping silent tears off her cheeks, insulted and ashamed that they are painting her as a weak and terrible mother.

The system is broken.

She's known it from the very start when she'd been told that verbal violence and psychological violence, despite causing long-term consequences, would likely be ignored in court because of the prominent lack of proof.

She's known it when she'd been told that physical violence needed to be more than a simple push.

She's known it when she'd been asked by the police why she hadn't reported the sexual assaults earlier, why she hadn't moved out of the house earlier, and why, after all those years, she'd chosen to stay in a relationship with her abuser.

The system is broken and she's lucky enough to be able to present her case to the court.

She watches as her lawyer patiently explains the cycle of domestic violence to the jury. She listens as both sides portray her differently. One argues that she's a fierce survivor who will stop at nothing to protect her child, while the other replies that she is the victim of circumstances and of a misunderstood man who simply wanted to provide for his family.

She's enraged, but she won't let anger win, not when Allie still holds her hand so strongly.

She'll choose love over every other emotion and she knows that Harry never truly loved her.

It takes two hours for the jury to debate and come to a decision.

It feels like a decade by the time the judge finally declares the judgment.

But when Bea hears it, It's a lifetime of pressure that vanishes from her shoulders.

"The court: Orders for Harry Smith to be detained in a correctional facility for a duration of seven years. Orders Harry Smith not to contact, or attempt to contact, Bea Smith and Debbie Smith in any way. Orders Harry Smith not to be in physical presence of Bea Smith and Debbie Smith. Failure to respect these conditions will result in additional time spent in a correctional facility."

And just like that, as quickly as it started, Harry Smith is handcuffed and taken away within seconds.

He's gone before Bea even understands the meaning of the sentence.

He's gone before Bea understands that the tears on her cheeks are hers and that the increasing pain in her ears comes from Debbie's agitated voice. He's gone before she even has the chance to look at him one last time.

"I won," she says absently, not quite aware of her own words.

And Bea is slapped in the face with a heavy dose of reality as Allie cups her cheek with a gentle hand, looking at her with Victory dancing in her eyes.

 _She won_.

Even if her suffering lasted years, much longer than seven years, even if she still battles with the consequences of domestic violence to this day, even if it follows her for another decade, today, she won.

She holds her daughter close until they part ways. It's _their_ victory, not just her own. They may not be able to celebrate it together for now, but they will, she knows it.

Seven years.

The system may be broken, but it gave her seven years of peace.

It's much less than what he deserves, but Bea knows something with certainty now.

He was invincible, but not anymore.

She is.

* * *

 _She's flying._

 _She doesn't quite know where she's going, she just knows that if she stops, she might never fly again._

 _So she flies higher and higher until she crosses clouds and mocks gravity. The sky turns black and the air goes missing, but her lungs are full of life as she drifts to different galaxies. She marvels at the different shapes she meets, and she is blinded by the stars' brightness as she makes her way to the edge of everything she's ever known._

 _She can't go on forever because she fears she'll never find her way back to the one who matters most._

 _She returns to the Milky Way, heart heavy with all her discoveries. She circles Pluto and almost crashes into a comet when she is too busy admiring Neptune's bluest colors. She dances with Saturn's rings and gets momentarily torn apart by Jupiter's violent currents. She's dizzy by the time she reaches Mars, after zigzagging in- between the asteroid belt and all its rocky bullets._

 _She sighs in relief when Earth appears in her eyesight._

 _She descends through cotton candy clouds and the gentlest drizzle mixes with her hair. The taste of her flight remains on her tongue for long after she's touched the ground again._

 _She's in a familiar place, but she's not quite where she wants to be yet, she thinks as she looks around. She glances up and, just like that, she's floating above the highways and avoiding the nasty traffic around her._

 _She laughs with the birds and she turns herself invisible when she notices a few curious heads turning to the sky, wondering what that strange shape in the sky might be. She won't let anyone call the police on her. She can fly, but she's no alien, no superhero, no villain. She's just human, and she has human emotions, and right now, she misses the hell out of someone._

 _She reaches a familiar house._

 _She steps on the ground and takes a few deep breaths._

 _Nothing makes her more nervous than knocking on this simple front door. She claps her hands together, as if this simple gesture could shock the nervousness out of her body. She recites a few words in her mind, and they're all different versions of "hello" because she's afraid she'll become speechless when she sees her again._

 _It's always like this._

 _She's afraid that she'll be told to leave. She's scared that, somehow, they won't be the same as they were last time they saw each other. She thinks that, maybe, this time, she won't be good enough anymore._

 _She wonders how long she has before life reminds her that she doesn't deserve all this joy, all this love._

 _A body crashes onto her, holding her tightly as a hot breath caresses her neck. She automatically closes her eyes, diving in this feeling that she calls home. It feels familiar, and safe, and so damn perfect that she doesn't remember ever being_ _apart from this other person._

" _I'm home," she whispers. "Finally."_

 _She doesn't receive an answer, except for a tight squeeze that reaches within her chest to hold her heart hostage too. It feels like lightning striking her soul and she gets drunk in this intoxicating feeling. She doesn't mind if she overdoses from it,_ _quite the opposite._

" _You're home," Bea answers, voice betraying her excitement._

 _Home._

 _A place._

 _A feeling._

 _A person._

* * *

Allie wakes up.

She chases her dream for a little longer, forcing herself to focus on that incredible feeling of being able to do anything she wants.

She could fly. She could be invisible. She could do anything, anytime, anywhere.

She could _be_ anyone.

She smiles softly at the memory.

She looks at Bea. Her heart melts in a familiar way.

Home.

* * *

Allie sees the girl again.

It happens a month after she's started to help at the youth shelter, on the day that marks the end of her deal with Ruby.

It's unexpected, surprising even, and it makes her freeze on the sidewalk while Ruby continues her speech about whether or not it is adequate to call the police when someone is having a crisis in the streets.

Allie sees a ghost and starts running in its direction, ignoring Ruby's questioning tone that follows her all the way to the next intersection. She can't help it. There's adrenaline rushing through her body and her heart slams against her chest. She starts to believe that she's hallucinating.

She estimates that she has three seconds before she loses sight of the familiar silhouette and she forces herself to run faster, faster, faster. She wants to open her mouth and yells a name, any name, but she doesn't know the girl's name, doesn't know anything anymore.

"Wait!" she screams, her voice lost in the wind as she gets closer, but never close enough.

She thinks she'll regret it for the rest of her life if she misses this opportunity. She's nowhere close to the old street corner where they used to meet. It's now or never.

She races against space and time until she has no more energy to give them, and only then does she stop to catch her breath. She's sweating and she can see Ruby staring at her from afar like she's lost her mind, but it's alright, everything's alright now that she's standing next to a familiar stranger leaning on the brick wall.

"That's a new hat?" Allie asks boldly, looking ahead of her at the busy street. She gasps for air and feels her throat burning but she figures it's a small price to pay to have answers to all her questions.

Not getting answers is the worst part of it all.

The girl, crippled by ambivalence and all its friends, looks at her with a smile that is tragically empty. She wears a hat Allie doesn't recognize and she has a backpack that looks like it was bought just yesterday. Beside that, she's just the same as she was a few weeks ago.

"What's wrong?" Allie asks curiously. They both stand so close that their shoulders almost touch, but the girl carefully takes a step away. "You disappeared."

"Nothing."

"Yeah, sure," Allie rolls her eyes. "I thought you'd learned by now that you can't lie for shit. Especially to me. I'm the mastermind here, not you."

She vaguely hears Ruby yelling her name but she ignores it.

The girl shrugs and looks down at her feet.

"We're past formalities now," Allie insists. "I told you I'd find you again if you left. I didn't expect you to leave the very next day I said it, but you know, I meant it and here I am. And if I have to find you again, I'll do it. Here, try me!" Allie continues as she closes her eyes and pretends to give the girl the chance to run away.

She gives it a few seconds before she opens her eyes, smirking because the girl is still there, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

Allie sees a war in her eyes.

The words are battling their way out of the girl's throat and even if she wishes she could keep them in, she won't, because somewhere along the way, she's learned that she can trust the blonde with kind blue eyes.

"Child protection services wanted to put me in foster care," she confesses. "I think someone called them and they came for me."

Allie sees the question coming at light speed and quickly answers it before she's wrongfully accused and loses all credibility.

"I didn't," she says carefully. She knows well what the girl must have thought. "You know that, right?"

The girl studies Allie's face carefully, like she's struggling to believe her while knowing very well that Allie would never betray her like that. On the other hand, Allie's the only one who knowns her enough to _care_ , the only one who would have made the effort to call on the pretense that it is for her own good.

"I wanted you to meet the woman who changed my life. I never would have done anything to ship you off somewhere else," Allie argues. "I came back the next day and you were gone. I was in panic mode, you can ask her if you ever meet her," she adds with a small chuckle.

"I know," the girl concedes. "I think my parents made a call to the police. Maybe they finally realized that I wouldn't trade myself for their version of me."

"What did you do when the social workers showed up?"

"I said yes, that I would go with them because I couldn't stay there for the rest of my life, right? So they put me in this foster family," is the answer that makes Allie smiles, until she hears the end of the world coming out of the teenager's mouth and everything crashes again. "The father… he's not a good man. He tried to do something, so I ran away. Ended up here. Except now, I won't trust them anymore. Not him, not anyone. I move to a new place every day."

Allie doesn't respond at first. She's repeating the girl's words in her head, again and again until she's sure that she didn't misunderstand. And the more she thinks about it, the sicker she gets, and the angrier she gets. She clenches her fists, trying to be subtle about the rage that's growing rapidly in every part of her body.

It's unfair, she decides.

It's unfair that the only place that could have given the girl a true shot at a normal life made everything worse. Things like that shouldn't happen, not to this girl who had finally started to believe she could get a better life, not to _anyone._

It's unfair that people get punished and kicked out for something as beautiful as love, while others triumph for things much more horrible.

And the most frustrating part is that she can't do anything to help. She's one against a whole organization; one that is flawed despite its good intentions.

"How long have you been back in the streets?" she asks with a trembling voice.

"It doesn't matter, I'm back," the girl replies like it's a stupid question. "I'm back," she repeats with a heavy sigh that betrays her scorching pain. "I'm never leaving."

And Allie feels a dozen rocks fall in her stomach as she stares at the broken teenager, unable to say anything to bring hope back in the conversation.

The girl tried. She tried, only to learn the hard way that, maybe, trying isn't enough to free her from this life. A part of Allie can't help but agree with her because she knows what it's like to reach the sky only to discover that it was all a trick from the devil.

They stay silent for a few seconds before Ruby joins them, sending a questioning glance to Allie, whose eyes try to explain everything within seconds. Before Ruby has the chance to speak, the girl frowns and the smallest smile appears on her face.

"Is this your girl?" she asks Allie. "Did you stalk me just so I could meet her?"

Allie laughs and quickly replies.

"Definitely not. This is Ruby, she's my boss so you might want to watch your words for my sake."

Ruby gives the girl a pointed look, analyzing every visual hint that is offered to her. Dirty clothes but brand new bag. Defying eyes and unsure smile. Arms crossed against her chest. Glances thrown around every few seconds. Almost instantly, Ruby's trained eyes tell her that the girl is homeless, probably has been for a while, and that it won't be easy to get through her.

"You're her boss?" the girl asks slowly.

"That's damn right. It's her last day today actually. And you're the girl Allie's been looking for ever since she started," Ruby declares without missing a beat. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ruby. And before you ask, I'm not here to force you to do anything you don't want to."

The girl nods, looking at the blonde like a child would look at a parent to make sure the situation is safe.

"Allie?" she asks.

"My identity has been revealed," Allie chuckles. "That's my name. Don't worry, you don't have to tell me yours."

The girl nods again, memorizing the precious information. Knowing Allie's name doesn't change much, but it adds a level of intimacy to their strange connection. She doesn't want to say her name, and she appreciates that she isn't asked to.

"Allie." The girl repeats, testing the way the name sounds. It doesn't sound terrifying. It doesn't make her fear her or want to run away. It sounds like the name of a friend. She turns to Ruby and gives her a small grin. "I may be in the streets today, but Allie's helped me. She talked to me when no one else would. You'd be a fool to let her go."

Allie's eyes widen at the bold statement while Ruby hums pensively.

"Do want to walk with us?" Ruby offers after a few seconds, ideas twirling in her mind. "We were heading to the gym."

Allie frowns. They were heading to a crisis center so she could talk to some of the workers there about their job. The gym is the last place she expected Ruby to mention. She looks at the girl who wears the same confused expression on her face.

"Come on," Ruby playfully bumps her shoulder to the girl's. "One hour won't hurt. It's not far from here and we can walk ahead of you so it doesn't look like you're hanging out with a bunch of old people. You don't know me, but if I do anything wrong, I have no doubt that Allie's gonna stop me from potentially hurting you."

The girl thinks about it for a moment before she agrees, a small curious smile glittering in her eyes. One hour of her life can't hurt. Plus, she really has nothing else to do.

The walk to the gym is short, a mere ten minutes, as if Ruby had planned this all along.

The trio walks silently, each of them having different thoughts to process. Ruby plans her intervention carefully, crafting every step leading to the finale. Allie tries to guess what Ruby has in mind while she thinks of the right words to say to the teenager when they inevitably part ways. The girl follows, heart beating a little faster than it did a while ago.

When they arrive, Ruby exchanges a few words with the receptionist, shows her ID, and then motions for Allie and the girl to follow her. She leads them across the gym until they reach a private room. She winks as she retrieves a pair of boxing gloves from a small locker and throws them in the girl's direction, along with a set of protective gear.

"Put them on," she orders. "We're having a fight. You versus Allie."

"Excuse me?" Allie says, taking a step back. "I'm not fighting her!"

"And yet, you are," Ruby smiles wickedly, throwing a second pair of gloves to her. "It's your last day, consider it your final test. Unless, you know, I could fight her."

Allie rolls her eyes and obeys, helping the girl to do the same while Ruby places a few mattresses on the floor.

"One hour, that's what you gave me," Ruby says to the girl. "I'll make the most of it, but you can take it back whenever you want, got it?"

The girl accepts, unsure of how to react.

Ruby teaches them a few tricks and punches, explaining how to avoid getting hurt and hurting the other. She shows them how to position themselves, how to stand, how to move across the makeshift ring, and more importantly, how to communicate without words. Every step is important, every movement is calculated, and when she's finally satisfied with their individual progress, she makes them stand in opposite corners of the room.

"If one of you wants to stop, just say stop," she repeats for the fifth time. "If you are hurt, say it, don't pretend like you're stronger than you are just because of pride, alright?"

Allie nods slowly while the girl looks determined to do this right.

They start hesitantly, throwing a few punches in the air and walking in circles, avoiding each other like the plague. They glance a few times in Ruby's direction, expecting her to stop them, to say it's a joke and that they don't really have to fight each other. But Ruby looks at them with a serious look and they resign to the fact that this is not a test of some kind.

Allie waits for the girl to attack first. There's no way she'll take the lead in this twisted exercise. It takes a few minutes, but the girl steps forward and throw a hit directed at Allie's shoulder. It doesn't hurt, it barely touches her, but Allie's instincts kick in and she jumps back and races to the other side of the room.

The girl laughs loudly at the action and moves closer, fists slightly moving up and down. She's nervous at the thought of getting hurt, but the possibility that she might win is stronger in her mind as she extends her left arm and tries to get Allie's side. She misses by a few centimeters, but she redirects her aim to get the side of Allie's head.

Allie avoids the punch by taking a step back. She immediately aims for the girl's torso, carefully measuring the strength with which she moves her arm. The girl flinches at the blow, but a sly smile appears on her face as she realizes that she's not as scared as she thought she'd be, that this doesn't hurt the way she thought it would.

They spend a few minutes trying to land the perfect blows as Ruby monitors every movement. It's a dangerous dance and they never hit harder than they have to, but they start to recognize the best techniques according to the other's actions. They find themselves laughing and shouting at each other as time passes and a friendly competition replaces their fear.

Ruby directs them a few times, teaching them the basics of the sport and encouraging them to practice more complex movements. She guides them through different three-minutes rounds until Allie and the girl are both sweating and exhausted.

The last round has them burning the last bits of their energy. They jog through the room and take hits without holding back. They momentarily forget that this is a game. For a minute that feels like a decade, Allie is engaged in a war against her past while the girl is fighting her way to her future.

"You don't do sports often, do you?" Ruby teases as she watches the two girls lying on the floor, chests moving quickly up and down as they catch their breath at the end of the anarchic round.

"Shut up," Allie lets out while the teenager chuckles freely.

"Just stating the truth," Ruby's smile widens.

"I still don't understand what's the point of fighting each other," the girl says.

"Feel." Ruby suggests kindly. "I'm ordering a full minute of silence."

The girl looks at the ceiling, lights blinding her as she blinks the fatigue away. Her body aches and she knows it'll be worse tomorrow, but the longer she waits, the more endorphins chase the pain away. Within minutes, she's left with an euphoric feeling in her soul. She finds herself replaying the fight in her mind until it's all she can think about. Gone are the thoughts of the streets and the worries about where she'll end up tomorrow.

She closes her eyes and waits until her body understands that it is time to relax. A minute later, or maybe ten, she doesn't know, Ruby's voice reaches out to her.

"You know what I like about boxing? You can't fight someone without having your full attention focused on key element. Do you know what these are?"

The girl opens one eye to look at Ruby, but the other woman is staring out the window like she is lost in a dream of her own.

"First, you have to learn the right way to hit the other person: enough to stop them, but not so much that you hurt them. Second, you have to know how to protect yourself without running away. And third, you must be aware that every time you take a step back, your next step forward should already be planned. You're must keep moving, keep analyzing your surroundings, because if you stop, you lose. And that's how life is, isn't it?"

Allie listens just as closely as the girl is.

"You have to take risks, and you have to be willing to be hurt in exchange to get to where you want to go. You won't win if you're scared, but you will lose if you're ruthless. And boxing teaches you how to find balance."

Ruby pauses like she's done this speech many times.

"A friend of mine, Shelley, was raped when I was supposed to look out for her," Ruby narrates. "A single night, that's all it took to change everything. I almost killed the guy who did it. I was put in jail for a few months and when I got out, I lived in the streets."

Allie frowns, listening to Ruby's story for the first time, seeing her in a way she hadn't before.

"For weeks, I punched people with the only purpose of hurting them. I ran away from my sister who just wanted to keep me out of trouble. I lived in the past and forgot that I had a future. And boxing became the only thing that made me grateful to be alive. Everything else just felt meaningless."

Ruby stands next to the girl and offers her a hand.

"How about you get up and look at me," she pulls the girl up until they're standing face to face. "We don't know each other. You know Allie, but not me. But if I were to ask you what the one thing that makes you grateful to be alive is, what would you say?"

"What if I don't have anything?" the girl asks.

"You have something," Ruby shrugs. "We all do or we would all be dead."

The girl thinks and thinks and thinks again until she finds the only answer that makes sense.

"Unexpected friendship," she says, looking in Allie's direction before directing her attention back to Ruby. "Allie's helped me a lot. If it's her last day with you, you're making a mistake, I'll say it again."

Allie's eyes shine at the answer and beams at the last comment.

"See? I told you, you have something," Ruby winks. "And you need to remember it, especially if you move away and we can't find you again. I'll consider what you said about Allie," she adds playfully. "But you're right, she's a good one."

"So we fought just so you could teach us some life lesson?" The girl questions with an unconvinced voice.

"Yes. And also because I enjoy watching newbies trying my favorite sport. You all think you're so clever when you make the worst possible moves. It's quite entertaining," Ruby laughs teasingly.

They leave the gym a few minutes later, hearts full of innocent joy.

Allie nervously awaits the next turn of events. Nothing is going as planned and she dreads the moment they'll separate. Will she ever find the girl again? Will she ever have another chance to convince her that giving up isn't an option? And what if she doesn't get another chance? Was this day enough to be remembered? To make a lasting difference?

Or will it be erased from their memories tomorrow?

The answer comes in the form of an invitation voiced by Ruby as they arrive back to their departure point.

"You have two choices," Ruby declares. "Allie and I are going back to the youth shelter where I will most likely offer her to keep working with me part-time while she studies so much that her head might explode by the time she gets her degree."

She pauses, rolling her eyes as Allie gasps and quickly high fives the teenager.

"You can come with us, and I can give you the help you deserve along with some unlimited boxing training," Ruby offers lightly, "or you can go your own way and hope that the next time I see you, you're doing better. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to kick your ass. So what will it be?"

The answer is obvious. So obvious that the girl believes she's been tricked.

"You won't send me back to that foster house, will you?" she asks with a tensed voice. "Because I'll run away, I swear. And you won't find me this time, I'll make sure of that."

"Running away won't be an option," Ruby promises. "But I will find you a place to stay. You can't stay in the streets. You're not even an adult yet, despite what you may believe."

The girl opens her mouth to argue that yes, she is an adult, because no child could survive the way she'd been surviving.

"Don't say it," Allie interrupts her thoughts. "I believed I was an adult for a long time until I hit rock bottom. That's when you realized you've been fooling yourself."

"You'll be there?" The teenager asks Allie with a fragile, hopeful voice.

"Of course," Allie states proudly, "you just convinced Ruby to keep me around."

"Don't make me regret it," Ruby retorts. She gives a few seconds of silence before she speaks again. "So what will it be? Think you can deal with us? I'll make you an offer. Walk with us until we arrive and then you can decide. That'll give you a few extra minutes to make the right choice."

Ruby leads the way without looking back.

Allie follows quietly, sometimes turning around to make sure that the teenager is following them.

The girl walks slowly and exhales deeply, carefully keeping her distance. She opens her bag and searches for something. A few seconds later, she's holding her old hat in her hands, playing with it with a mix of shame and regrets invading her mind.

Over the past months, she had memorized the sound it made when someone threw money into it and the feeling of the soft fabric brushing against her forehead every time she put it on. She had engraved the pain in her bones and the sadness in her eyes, and she had tattooed despair on every inch of her heart.

She had made this hat her home. She had denied the fact that it wouldn't be enough to give her a fair shot in this strange world. Still, she had trusted it more than anything and anyone.

When they finally reach their destination, she feels its weight triple in her hands while the internal debate electrifies her.

"Have you decided?" Ruby asks. "Because I'm not waiting around, unlike this one," she points to Allie.

"You should know that you changed my life," Allie cuts Ruby's commanding tone. "You can always reach out to me if you need anything, no matter what you decide today. You helped me find what I want to do for the rest of my life. It's not a small thing."

"I know," the girl replies shyly.

"Of course, you do," Allie grins. "You know everything, don't you?"

Their old meetings flash before their eyes.

Yes, the teenage girl thinks, she knows everything.

Just like she knows that this is the chance of a lifetime, maybe her last chance at all, and that wasting it would be the ultimate betrayal to herself.

Just like she knows that her hat, her anchor to life, her only friend for so long, is now part of her past.

"Help me," she whispers, unsure whether she's talking to Ruby or Allie, or the shelter itself.

The words she's wanted to say for so long are finally free.

* * *

 _They are standing on top of the sun._

 _She thinks she might combust. She think she will explode in a pile of ashes, but she doesn't. The heat is pleasant, warm like a welcoming fire during the coldest night. There are flames licking her body gently and there are sparks illuminating the dark emptiness around her._

 _She sees rainbows being created before her eyes and they fly past her to give color to every object in the universe. She feels like she's living in another reality where black and white are forbidden, where instead, everything is carefully inked with different shades of green and blue and orange._

 _She loves that the colors aren't shy, aren't holding their magic back, because it would be a shame for the world not to see how perfect they are._

 _She looks next to her and finds Allie smiling at a streak of pink. Allie is dressed in blue and purple, and a few seconds later, she's waving goodbye to a string of yellow._

 _Bea thinks it's adorable._

 _She looks up. Distant stars are bowing to them._

 _She looks down and gasps. She's made of fire and her body is buried under the flames._

 _She raises her hand and a volcano shoots stardust across the distance, assembling elements that will compose the new world._

 _She understands now that she made a mistake by believing they were standing on the surface of the sun. They aren't standing on the sun._

 _They are the sun, and their love is the fuel that makes it burn forever._

* * *

Bea wakes up.

Allie is already staring at her.

They both smile.

They're in love.

* * *

It's an ordinary wooden bench.

It was installed there a few years ago, by construction workers who didn't have any other ideas in their mind than to finish the job as quickly as possible so they could go home to their families. It was placed there like any other would have, quickly dropped and quickly forgotten, and never visited again by those same people.

It stood at the same place for years, welcoming tired travelers and offering them a moment of calm. It became a mandatory stop for all of those looking for a bit of shadow to hide from the touch of the bright fireball floating in the sky. It held promises of a quick break, or of a night of decent sleep to those who couldn't afford a mattress or a roof over their head.

It was broken once, but quickly rebuilt, and quickly forgotten again.

It witnessed the birth of love and the turmoil of heartbreak. It saw secret kisses and stolen touches. It heard all kinds of rumors and raged quietly during quiet wars between its occupants. It cried with the wounded children who needed to sit to clean their small cuts and bruises. It sang along with the group of young adults who played music a bit too loud.

It was cold and lonely under the icy rain, and warm and full of friends during summer.

It was always forgotten fairly quickly.

And then it witnessed _them._

Strangers timidly approaching each other.

Gentle souls that had trusted the wrong creatures too many times.

Friends with jokes and stories to tell as the nights stretched to leave place to the early hours of the morning.

Warriors so eager to discover what peace tasted like that they momentarily left behind their belief that falling in love was a curse.

And what a fall it was.

The bench was never forgotten again.

* * *

The sun paints them gold when they leave their apartment shortly after eating dinner. It wraps them in a blanket made of all existing shades of yellow and orange, and it covers their skin with a soft glow that isolates them from the rest of the world. It's warm and comforting, but it isn't meant to last long as the giant star slowly disappears behind the horizon.

They don't have a plan, much less a destination, but they couldn't care less, and maybe that's why they are so comfortable right now. There's no expectations, no pressure, no need to impress each other with intellectual sentences and frivolous stories. They simply wanted to go out, to have a moment to themselves without having to think about anything else.

It doesn't matter if they get lost, if they find themselves in parallel universe. They have all night to try and remember where they come from. And at night, time seems to slow, to laugh at speed and the way humans rush to do everything at once. Really, if they think about it, they have centuries to go back to their place.

There's magic in the air as they wander in the various empty streets. The enchantment pulls them closer to each other until their shoulders brush and smiles bloom on their faces. The spell brings their hands together, fingers intertwining and locking together. Nothing could wipe the lovesick look in their eyes, and it's fine, it's perfectly fine with them.

It's a walk down memory lane as they gradually make their way through familiar neighborhoods. Houses shrink to smaller sizes and the growling noise of the cars persist in the air as the two women pass by busier streets. There's a few people asking for money here and there, and strangers are lining up to enter bars and restaurants that are only just opening.

They both recognize where they are the same time, and they grin knowingly as they exchange a glance. They stop walking and they hesitate. They could turn a few corners and be right back to a lawless place that were once theirs.

"Remember when we were seventeen?" Allie chirps, eyes glittering as if they were inhabited by a million fireflies. "And we had this amazing date, and this amazing life, and nothing could stop us?"

Bea finds herself remembering a night when she went out at dusk and wished that the moon would stay forever in the sky.

She mentally reconstructs the way to a diner stuck in the eighties, with its groovy music and its nostalgic dreams. She wants the memories and the feelings, but she wouldn't trade them for the way things are at the moment.

She's no longer seventeen years old and immortal.

She's older now, wiser, a bit of a fool, but one thing is sure. She is completely smitten with the woman next to her and unafraid to admit it.

"I remember you being a bit of a smartass," she jokes.

"I know how to impress the ladies," Allie winks. "That's my secret talent."

"With a dose of rap," Bea laughs.

"You would die without it," Allie replies as she places her free hand against her chest and exhales dramatically.

They share a laugh and keep walking.

Bea skips a few steps ahead and turns back, staring at Allie with the fading sunset in the background. She feels like she might go blind because she refuses to blink, refuses to miss a second of this luminous dream. She smiles so wide that her cheek hurt. She feels full and alive, and her chest rises to meet the sky when Allie grabs her hand and spins her around.

"What are you doing?" Bea asks with an amused voice while Allie keeps twirling around her, making them trade places every now and then.

"You can't be the only one with the best view. I know, I'm easy to admire, but I want to look at you with that background too," she points to the purple sky and its dark blue ribbons across it. "So we need to dance for everything to be fair."

"Since when do you dance?" Bea smirks. She feels giddy and silly, and like she is back to being a child.

"Since you stole my heart," Allie winks again.

Bea rolls her eyes, nearly overdosing on the sappiness that is tainting Allie's words. She knows Allie is teasing and probably throwing up in her mind too, but she smiles wider regardless, unable to keep a straight face.

They skip in the streets, jumping over the sidewalk's lines and circling around obstacles. They are made of music and notes, and melodies flood in their blood like they were born to carry symphonies.

Bea resists at first, trying to save her dignity while Allie encourages her to throw it all away. Soon, they are both soaring across the red lights and the stop signs, and even death needs to step away and gives them full control of the stage.

There's another moment of hesitation as they come to the intersection that would allow them to go back to the diner, should they decide to turn left. Part of Bea wants to go back, but another part never wants to. They had their night, and it was everything they could have hoped for, and any repetition would be a dull resemblance of their perfect moment.

Some moments are made to exist only once.

"Do you want to go back?" Allie asks with a low voice.

The answer comes immediately, erasing all of Bea's hesitation within seconds.

"No."

No, she doesn't want to go back.

She doesn't want to travel back in time and create a hypothetical past, with a hypothetical future, and a polished version of their present. She doesn't want lies to govern her life anymore. She wants to taste the present as it is right here and right now, with all its imperfect perfections.

She wouldn't trade her life for another one. It doesn't matter how shitty it was, how painful was. It doesn't matter if she bled and cried and ached with every part of her body and soul. It doesn't matter if she felt more broken than complete, more fragile than strong, and more miserable than happy. It all led to this moment.

It all led her to this dance she's shared with an angel.

"Let's go back to the park," Bea suggests.

The park was never about pretending to be different people. It was always about being their vulnerable selves. It was about dreaming of possibilities, until those possibilities became realities. It is the place where everything started, and Bea loves it endlessly, wants to take it all with her wherever she goes.

Allie agrees and pulls Bea in the park's direction. She makes them twirl every two steps, and every single time, Bea laughs louder than the moment before. Every laugh hits Allie's heart like lightning and makes her feel more alive than the second before.

They walk past Wentworth. The shelter is still there, a reassuring giant in the night, a lighthouse in the middle of a raging ocean, and Bea vaguely remembers a dream she's had a few days ago.

The lights are on in the office, and behind the blinds, Bea imagines Vera and Liz sharing a cup of tea while they discuss the women's files. She pictures Bridget meeting with another woman, sharing a few life lessons with every word she says. She thinks of Will and his kindness with children, and of every person that is sleeping peacefully, sheltered from the fists of their abusers.

She mentally thanks the shelter again. It doesn't feel like it is enough, but it's the only thing she can do for now.

Bea stares at the place for a long time before Allie's presence brings her back to the Earth. She closes her eyes while she inhales deeply.

She said goodbye. She moved on. She healed. She can remember, but she must never go back to this place.

The park greets them, and the bench seems to focus on the pair as they approach it.

The moon watches them as they sit silently. A few birds fly above them, admiring the way the duo wordlessly shares their love story with the rest of the world. A breeze comes along, flowing between them without ever being able to keep them apart.

Bea feels peaceful, so peaceful that she thinks she wouldn't mind falling asleep to the embrace of the velvet sky. She rests her head on Allie's shoulder, inhaling Allie's scent and listening to the song of her heartbeat.

She feels safe. She could fall asleep, but she's hyperaware of the proximity to the other woman and the realization that's it's never enough, she wants more.

"We need to come back more often," Bea says after a few minutes.

"We really do," Allie replies. The apartment is at some distance from this place and they can't walk here every night just to sit on a bench, no matter how comforting it feels.

But she sees the way Bea's eyes are shifting from one tree to another, from the path ahead of them to the distant sight of the kids' playground, noting every detail and remembering every part of it. She sees the way Bea's lips twitch to form a melancholic smile, and the way her eyes cloud with a mix of sadness and happiness at the same time. She knows that Bea is lost in the memory of what brought her here in the first place, and most importantly, what kept her there as the weeks rolled by.

She knows Bea misses the park.

Bea misses it like one misses their childhood home, and Allie _needs_ to find a solution to never see this look on Bea's face again because she feels her own heart being crushed too.

"I have an idea," Allie declares in a voice that tells Bea that this is not the kind of idea she'll appreciate.

Allie gets up and waits for a curious Bea to imitate her. She points to the bench, identifying it as the solution to soothe her longing.

"This bench is special, isn't it?"

"It is," Bea admits heartfully. She pauses, then adds, "It saved my life."

"Help me," Allie whispers while she gestures to it.

She grabs it with two hands and pulls at it, making it slightly budge from its familiar place. She starts pushing it a bit more, moving it toward the park's nearest exit. The bench creaks and groans, and tries to resist the sudden attack, but it is helpless against the strength of a determined woman that carries love in her heart and passion in her soul.

"What are you doing?" Bea hisses, looking around to make sure no one will hear them.

"What do you think I'm doing?!"

"We can't just take it back with us!" Bea exclaims loudly before she lowers her tone again. "What if we get caught?"

"What if we don't?" Allie replies, not moving her hands away. "We won't!"

Bea wants to laugh and sob at the same time because Allie's always had crazy ideas but this one? This one must be the craziest one.

"Do you really want to go to jail for such a stupid reason? Stealing a bench? This is weak. We'll die on our first day."

She can only imagine the welcoming party in prison. She briefly imagines people struggling with drugs and morals before she tells herself that she cannot judge what she doesn't know. Anyone can go in prison, for the right and wrong reasons.

"No way, you could totally rise to the top," Allie answers knowingly, receiving a shocked look from Bea. "You could! They'd call you Queen Bea or some shit!"

"Oh right, and then what do I do? I've never been a leader," Bea explains. "I wouldn't know how to take care of… whatever it is that women need."

"You just need to make sure no one dies on your watch. You're practically a guard. I had a friend who went there, said the screws were so corrupted that she had complete control over everything."

Bea thinks that control is a powerful tool, but a heavy dose of it can quickly become poison.

"It doesn't matter anyway because no one will know! Look around us. The world is asleep. It's quiet. It's peaceful. We're _alone_. Just like we were months ago. Except now, I can do this," Allie grins as she leans down to press a chaste kiss on Bea's lips. "And it's so much better than not being able to do it."

"I was alone too until you came stumbling around at five in the morning," Bea mumbles stubbornly, fighting the blush that hits her cheeks like a tidal wave.

"You love me too much to mean that," Allie shoots back with a shrug.

Bea doesn't reply, but the words echo in her mind for a long minute before they finally rise in the ambient air.

"Now come on, I'm strong, but I'm also lazy," Allie pouts exaggeratedly.

There's complete stillness as Bea stares at Allie like she just grew a second head.

"I'm not kidding. It can be ours! Hell, it's already ours and we're just reclaiming it," Allie insists, waving at the inanimate object which fate will be decided within the next minutes. "This damn thing should have our names on it! And don't you want to be able to sit on it whenever you want?"

Bea sighs, unsure. Her heart tells her to go along with the plan and her head orders her to not even consider it. She looks at Allie, whose blue eyes are full of malice, and she lets herself be convinced.

They can be outlaws together.

"I don't agree with it!" Bea hushes as she reluctantly places her hands on the bench and starts moving it toward the exit. "Tell that to the police when they arrest us!"

She may not agree with it, but she still sweats and curses and pulls with all her strength as Allie encourages and guides her to the exit. When they reach the sidewalk, she hesitates again.

"Where do we bring it?"

"The park near the apartment," Allie murmurs. "We'll be able to go as often as we want."

"Won't people wonder why a bench showed up out of nowhere?"

Allie shakes her head, her plan well set in her mind.

"No one notices this thing. When's the last time you stopped and thought 'hey, this bench was not there yesterday?' People are too busy to see those things."

The rare people that they meet as they walk down the road throw a few curious glances at them, but no one says a word, and Bea starts to believe that, maybe, she won't go to jail tonight. She realizes that whoever lives at night must not worry much about the straight and narrow.

They take a few breaks on their way, carefully avoiding the busiest streets and the places where they are at risk of being found. They hide in the shadows and they carry their treasure back with them, following a quest fueled by the purest parts of their hearts.

"This is insane," Bea whispers a few times.

"That's the best part of it all," Allie winks and smiles like she's living the most exciting night of her life, and Bea has no choice but to feel the same, to dive within those same emotions made of fireworks and drunken states.

She's tipsy with adrenaline and she loves the way it spreads around her body as she carries the bench with her. They follow the path back to a park they are still learning to appreciate.

They're exhausted, but satisfied by the time they arrive. Reflief floods over them when they realize that they committed the perfect crime in complete secrecy. The moon stares, judges and promises to keep their secrets safe. The Earth sleeps, and the pair of thieves mocks the city a big longer.

"We did it," Allie grins like the proudest woman on Earth. She wipes a thin layer of sweat away from her forehead and beams. "I told you we could do it. And no one saw us. I looked around."

"I know you didn't," Bea rolls her eyes playfully, "but thank you for pretending you did."

"Of course. I will always do that for you."

There's a devilish twinkle in Allie's eyes as she sits proudly on the bench like she built it herself. She looks up to Bea and smirks with a confidence that is so authentically hers that Bea can't help but roll her eyes in return. She gestures to the empty space next to her, expecting Bea to take a seat anytime now.

"We're bringing it back tomorrow," Bea decides as she stares at the trees around them. This bench doesn't belong in this park. People will realize it soon enough and she is nowhere ready to pay the price for her actions.

"Or… we don't," Allie replies lightly, like no threat could ever be big enough to make her feel scared when Bea's around her.

"We are," Bea repeats, trying to convince herself more than she is trying to convince the blonde woman.

"Sit down before I drag you here. You'll see that this feels exactly the same as it did before. Nothing has changed," Allie grins.

Bea reluctantly obeys, not before throwing a skeptical glance at Allie. She sits on the bench and it creaks familiarly under her weight. It is just the same, unchanged as it supports her body. It feels just as it did before, and even though her surroundings are no longer the same, the feelings remain and bring her back to a few months ago.

The magic operates, always.

"Doesn't it feel nice?" Allie asks.

"No," Bea groans, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"Liar. You'll thank me one day."

Bea shrugs detachedly, earning a light punch on the shoulder. She smiles and places her arm around Allie. There, she thinks, now she can relax.

"I can't believe we did that," she declares. "I feel like… I've gone crazy!"

"Craziness is good," Allie adds. "And this is only the beginning."

Allie smiles to herself. She thinks that the next step might be to go skinny dipping within the next month. She feels the wheels turning in her head as she imagines an elaborate scenario that could possibly convince Bea to join her. She could pretend to drown, but she knows Bea would call her bluff. She could pretend to be trapped somewhere, and Bea would have to go and rescue her. She could pretend that she can only swim if Bea is by her side. She could pretend that she's missing oxygen when Bea is not within three meters of her.

It wouldn't be so hard to pretend, it's nearly the truth.

"Don't worry, I won't make you do things that'll actually lead you to jail."

"You just did," Bea deadpans.

"They would never send us to jail for _that_!" Allie chuckles. "But keep that innocence of yours, it's adorable."

"Piss off."

Bea tightens her hold around Allie, letting her know that this is all a joke, that there's no anger surrounding them.

"This is a date, right?" Allie asks, suddenly unsure of her own existence. She glances down like the ground is fascinating, and all her confidence is dripping away from the pores on her skin.

Bea smiles gently and nods, because there is no other possible answer. This entire night has been a date, a real one, there's no denying it.

"But it's not our first date," Allie completes with a blink, "is it?"

"No, it doesn't feel like a first date," Bea frowns, trying to remember exactly the moment when every second spent with Allie became part of a never-ending date. "And if our first date is all about stealing a bench, I need to rethink my involvement with you."

"You don't! These dates are the best," Allie argues. "Beside, if that's the beginning, can you just imagine how much better it'll get?"

Bea tries to imagine, but she can't. She somehow believes that even their first conversation was a date in its own way.

Maybe, in retrospective, every single word they ever exchanged has been part of a script that they were always meant to perform together. Maybe, every sound they ever made while being together has harmonized to create an eternal musical masterpiece.

"I got something for you," Allie declares, reaching for something in her pocket.

Bea watches her with careful eyes.

If this is another one of the blonde's wild ideas, Bea thinks she can live without it a little longer. But it's not. It's not a crazy idea, it's not an impossible mission or a danger that hangs over her head. It's not a trip to prison or a life sentence with women she doubts she'd ever get along with.

It's a napkin.

It's a napkin from another realm, another kingdom where everything was different, and every castles were made of sorrows. Another time when she couldn't allow herself to dream.

It's a napkin with a faded drawing on it. It's made of a few lines carefully traced, coming together to create a memory engraved forever on a cheap piece of tissue.

"You kept it," Bea breathes out, trying to fit her emotions into molds made of letters and sounds.

It had seemed so silly back then, so irrelevant, but now, it seems like a relic to be kept until their very last breath.

"I didn't think you would."

"Of course, I did," Allie grins. "How could I not?"

"We pretended."

"We really didn't pretend that much."

"No, we didn't," Bea concedes, tasting the words with a delighted smile.

There is an infinite number of seconds that has passed since then.

The world kept moving long after their night at the diner was over.

They are transported back in that familiar land frozen in time, and they both get lost in each other's eyes. They think back to the awkwardness and the denial, and the fear despite the certainty that they were right where they needed to be. They remember the excitement that brought their interactions to life.

There's a heartbeat.

A lone, quivering heartbeat that doesn't quite belong with the others. It ripples through Bea's body and ravages her soul as she thinks of Allie and the way her life will never be the same.

A lifetime ago.

Bea feels like a completely different person. Today, if she had to do it all again, she wouldn't play pretend. She wouldn't act like she doesn't care. She wouldn't talk about being seventeen and disguise herself as a younger self. She wouldn't force herself to believe everything is fake and that their connection only exists in the presence of neon lights and the sweetest sweets.

She'd be herself. She'd be honest. She'd make sure that they both know that this isn't an illusion or some kind of game. It is real, and it is beautiful, and it deserves to be remembered as such.

There's a moment of silence before the grand revelation, before the obvious finally reveals itself in an almost comical way. Bea blinks a few times, snapping a thousand pictures with her mind, before she stops abruptly. She doesn't want memories. She doesn't want pictures and ephemeral anecdotes.

And suddenly, everything makes sense, all the stars align again, and it's like a scene out of a movie, the kind of scenes Bea used to believe were full of lies and broken promises.

Allie's hair is dancing in the wind, and her smile is made of sunlight, and her laugh sounds like Bea's favorite song. Her presence rivals with the space around them, and nothing else, no one else, could ever pull Bea in the way Allie does.

And Bea thinks her life is so fragile that a single word could shatter it all.

But she wishes for nothing else.

She loves its flawed truth, its highs and its lows, its past and its future, and its mesmerizing present. She loves that she is not afraid of it anymore and that she feels like she might stay brave for the rest of her life. She loves that the air is a friend to her lungs and not poisonous smog anymore, and she loves that her body doesn't exist simply to be battered and bruised every night.

And she loves that this life is hers.

She loves, simply.

She used to fear these words because they meant nothing. They didn't promise her safety. They didn't protect her from the pain. But now, she hears them and she _feels_ them, feels the hope and the delicacy that come with them. She doesn't see them as a shelter against a possible punch in the guts, and she doesn't consider them strong enough to save her life should someone decide to fire a bullet at her, but she knows, she truly knows that they hold a miraculous kind of magic within them.

"I love you," she confesses, vulnerability pouring out of her as the last sound trails out of her throat.

She'd never thought these three words would ever leave her mouth again, but she knows now that she'd only been fooling herself.

They were always meant to come out again, and they were always meant to make her heart race, and they were always meant to belong to Allie.

"I'm in love with you," she repeats before soft lips press on hers.

It's exactly how Bea wants it to be.

* * *

The room is lit by the moonlight when they walk inside the apartment, unable to stop touching each other in one way or another. The rest of the world is quiet and gradually ceases to exist as they intimately face each other. Allie's eyes travelling up and down Bea's silhouette. There are questions hiding in the blue ocean and Bea wants to cry because she was never truly _asked_ before.

She could say no. She knows that the second she says no, Allie would stop and respect her wishes, and maybe that's why, this time, she nods and leans in to steal a taste of Allie's lips. The kiss is slow, marked with a few gentle bites until they grant entrance to each other and their tongues brush against each other.

Bea thinks she might as well be burned alive when Allie's hand reaches behind her neck and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss in a way that leaves her breathless. For a second, she craves the way Allie explores her mouth and owns every part of it. She trembles when Allie's hand cups her cheek softly, moving her head back until their breaths mix.

There are decades of insecurities within Bea's eyes and Allie slowly places gentle kisses on the corner of her mouth, answering every one of them. Allie plays the hem of Bea's shirt until she receives permission to take it off. She draws invisible lines on Bea's warm skin, eliciting shivers wherever her fingers press as she takes off her bra. She reads Bea like an open book, sees her fears and her growing anticipation, and she joins her, pulling her own shirt above her head.

She stops breathing when Bea's hand rests on her shoulder for a second before it reaches to remove her bra. She closes her eyes and presses her forehead to Bea's. She shakes when Bea's hands caress her cheeks. She's in awe of the depth of the intimacy they share. She could remain still forever, drowning into Bea's proximity.

Sex was always rushed for her, always a race against time and a way for her to survive another day.

It was never a love story. Until today.

Bea leans in again, smiling as she battles Allie for dominance with an urge that wasn't there a few seconds ago. The kiss escalades until Bea's throat vibrates to the sound of Allie's moans. It sends tingles between her legs as dizziness takes over her. She can't stand and she breaks the kiss and glances to the bed, silently asking Allie to join her.

Clothes are discarded on the way and before she realizes it, she's lying on the mattress while Allie straddles her lap and pulls her closer. The blonde's lips move down to Bea's neck, hot breath dancing on Bea's skin as Allie carefully searches for the most sensitive places, finding each one of them.

Bea lets her explore freely because every time Allie finds something, a shock runs through her body and arousal drives her farther from any concept of self-control. She doesn't have time to think as Allie's hand reaches for hers, sliding it across her stomach until she cups her own breast gently, pressing against the delicate skin. She gasps and captures Allie's mouth once again, trying to convey just how much she is feeling in a single gesture, and when Allie grins and laughs against her lips, Bea finds herself doing just the same.

She's never touched herself before, never even considered it, because sex was never about her pleasure.

It was never about her. Until today.

But Allie is different, and Bea is acutely aware of the way Allie's naked body presses against hers. Allie is everything Bea never had before. The way the blonde helps her to discover her own body proves it. Bea finds herself panting and whimpering when Allie whispers in her ear as she guides their hands along the curves of her breasts, the softness of her waist and the length of her legs.

She tenses when Allie's hand leaves hers and moves higher between her legs. Allie stops and rests her hand on Bea's thigh, drawing small circles on her skin while Bea closes her eyes tightly, briefly believing she's ruined everything, until Allie's arms embrace her to hold her safely. It's all it takes for Bea to breathe again. She turns to face Allie, to face the woman she's fallen so deeply in love with.

She lets her gaze trace roads she's yet to explore on Allie's skin, admiring the body before her. She tentatively moves a hand down to where Allie's rests. She strokes the back of Allie's hand with her thumb and brings it to her lips to leave a small kiss. She squeezes Allie's hand and slowly moves it back to where it was, only this time, it's a little higher, a little closer to where she wants Allie to be, and with a light push, she encourages Allie to continue.

She closes her eyes, a hurricane of feelings destroying her mind.

Every kiss Allie leaves on her skin makes her feel safer.

Every touch Allie grants her makes her weaker and stronger all at once.

Every sound coming out of Allie's mouth makes her crave for more.

Every time Allie asks permission, Bea breathes a single _yes,_ until she can't answer anymore, her world overwhelmed by sensations she can't identify and her voice laced with shaky moans.

* * *

She dreams of a white dress and a pair of matching rings, but when she wakes up, she doesn't remember.

* * *

 **It's coming to an end. Next chapter will be the last.**

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **A friend of mine stole a bench from a park and brought it to his backyard and that's where this fun part comes from.**


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